


The Sectioned Detective

by corruptedpov



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Aspergers, Aspie Sherlock, Autism, Comas - Freeform, Gen, Hallucinations, Hurt Sherlock, Mental Health Issues, Overprotective Mycroft, POV Sherlock Holmes, Psychiatric Wards, Sherlock has a lot of issues, Sherlock is a Mess, Sherlock-centric, The lying detective, aspergers sherlock, culverton smith - Freeform, delusional behaviour, euros doesn't exist, mental health issues to be revealed later, psychiatrists, sherrinford, sherrinford is not a facility, the last 5 minutes of tld doesn't exist
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-21
Updated: 2018-11-14
Packaged: 2018-12-04 23:56:38
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 70
Words: 67,146
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11566056
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/corruptedpov/pseuds/corruptedpov
Summary: Culverton Smith has been arrested, the case is closed, yet Sherlock is still obsessed with catching him. Mycroft takes Sherlock away to a facility who can help him, but refuses John access to his friend. But while he fights to get to the bottom of the mystery, he uncovers far more about Sherlock’s past, and mental health issues, than he ever imagined.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, this was supposed to be up a LOT earlier than it now, but I'm slightly worried about this one, and had to do some tweaks to it before I posted.  
> This fic is set a few weeks after TLD, but diverts from canon from Sherlock's birthday onwards. Euros does not exist, Sherrinford is not a facility somewhere, but something else that I've come up with, that will get revealed later on in the fic. Everything is based on the things I've seen in the show, especially TLD. I've also done a lot of research, but anything I get wrong please do tell me, I want this as accurate as possible, and there's only so much the internet and multiple rewatches of Legion and Perception can only go so far!  
> Small trigger warnings for mental health facilities, hallucinations, delusions and familial loss.  
> Also, I want to say now that Sherlock's referred to as a 'dangerous' patient, and this is NOT because of his illness. Many people suffer from mental illness, but this does not mean that they are dangerous to others around them. The reason, and this fic will go into that later, Sherlock is referred to as dangerous is because of his intellect and the fact that he's highly trained in combat skills. The dangerous label as absolutely nothing with his illness, and I am not saying in any way that people with mental health issues are inherently dangerous, as they are most certainly not.

Prologue Sherlock's POV

“John, you don't understand, this man, he is a walking _pit_ of... of evil, of pain, of suffering! We have to catch him, John, you have to understand, we can’t let him continue on like this!” We couldn't let him carry on, we couldn't let Culverton Smith continue. He had to be stopped, before he killed again, before he tried to kill _me_ again. he was evil, we caught evil people, it’s what we did. And, and Mary said to do it. Mary told me to do it, I had to save John and stop Smith and save everyone else before Culverton got them because he would kill us all and it wouldn’t stop until all of us were dead!

“Alright, alright, Sherlock, calm down. Just breathe a minute, okay? Just breathe.” John told me, hands up protectively, like he thought I’d hurt him. Of course, I wouldn’t hurt _him,_ not John! Of course I wouldn’t hurt John!

 “I can’t calm down, there’s no time to calm down! There’s a serial killer out there and nobody even knows it! we have to stop him!” I had to ignore the voice in my head, it was nothing more than a drug induced hallucination, there were more important things to do now. Important things like stopping serial killers.

“Sherlock, we have stopped him! He’s in prison now, you said it yourself, he won’t stop confessing!” John told me, that couldn't be right.

“I never said such a thing, don't be stupid, John, it doesn’t suit you.” I barged past, back to the wall, smothered with photos of Smith, all the potential evidence there. There had to be something, _anything,_ in there to prove Culverton’s guilt, there had to be. There was always evidence, serial killers always slipped up, always made a mistake. Even the clever ones had to make a mistake somewhere. I just had to find it.

“Sherlock, stop this, I mean it. Culverton is in prison, he was arrested at the hospital, remember? You got his confession, got him arrested, and the police have enough evidence to put him away for life. It’s over, it’s all over.” John grabbed my arm, I flinched back, tearing myself away from him.

He’d... he’d hit me. In, in Culverton’s favourite room. He’d hit me over and over, the pain, I still... I still had the stitches. I couldn't... I’d made him so angry.

“I’m sorry, but please, please you have to listen to me, John. I’m not making this up, Culverton is a serial killer, and we’re the only ones who can stop him. We just have to prove it, it’s in the evidence somewhere, please, just help me. you have to help me, I can’t do this on my own.” I needed him, more than ever. But John was so easily angered, I had to keep him on my good side, even when I deserved the beating. He could do what he wanted later, I just needed help _now._

Footsteps thundered up the stairs, the door bursting open, revealing Mycroft’s men.

“What are you doing here? You’re not allowed in here.” No-one was allowed in the flat. Not unless they were clients or friends. Mycroft’s men were neither, they weren’t allowed up! It wasn't their place to be!

“I’m sorry, Sherlock, but they’re only here to help.” John sighed, giving me an apologetic look.

“What do you mean, they’re here to help? They’re morons, they can’t help!” They weren’t even members of Scotland Yard, who were useless enough as it was. What were Mycroft’s men going to do exactly?!

The men grabbed my arms, starting to pull me towards the door.

“John, what’s going on? Where are they taking me? John? John what’s happening?” I didn't understand, what were they doing here? And why were they taking me? I didn't... I hadn’t done anything, why were they here?!

“They here to help, like I said.” John stayed in the flat, watching as I helplessly got dragged away, “I’m sorry, I really am.”

“What for? I don't, where am I going?” I didn't understand, couldn't understand. I was trying to catch a killer, why were these men here?! Why were they taking me away?

Why... why was there an injection needle? Why did they have that? It wasn't cocaine, it definitely wasn't cocaine! What was it?! What were they giving me? Why was... everything... getting... darker.


	2. Chapter 2

1 John's POV

This was for the best, it had to be for the best. Sherlock wasn't well, really, really wasn't well. And it wasn't just drugs this time, he hadn’t been alone for long enough to shoot up. This wasn't a drugs high, this was something else, something more serious. Something I couldn't help with. Something Mycroft seemed to understand and immediately set about fixing. He hadn’t told me what was wrong, had just texted a time and a date, as well as instructions to let his men take Sherlock away. That he would be taken to a hospital, who would take care of his brother.

“Thank you for your co-operation, Doctor.” Mycroft nodded politely, but coldly, in my direction, before climbing into the blacked out van-turned-ambulance Sherlock was in.

“Of course, I couldn't... he needs help.” That didn't stop me feeling guilty over all of this, though. Especially as I watched his sedated body get strapped to a gurney. Standard procedure for transferring patients to hospitals, yet it didn't feel right.

“He does. I shall be in touch if I need any information from you.” Mycroft went to shut the door, the spooks settling into the front, ready to drive.

“When can I visit him?” I had only agreed to not go with him now because Mycroft had advised against it, saying that there would be enough doctors around to look after Sherlock, and one more would cause more harm than good. I had wanted to fight back, turn up anyway, but this was psychiatry, not physical, I wouldn’t be of use. And, I had Rosie to think about, I couldn't go swanning off to God knows where for God knows how long. I was going to be the man I wanted to be. And that meant looking after my daughter.

But my best friend also needed me. He wasn't at all well, something was terribly wrong, and I wanted to be there for him. More than I had been recently. I’d been terrible recently, to everyone. And they didn't deserve my treatment of them. I’d been grieving, but it was no excuse. Especially for the way I had treated Sherlock, I shouldn’t have done what I did, should have _never_ have hit him like that. Not Sherlock, even when he’d been so out of it.

Even then he’d been out of it, I had put it down to the drugs, but maybe that wasn't the answer here. I couldn't tell, though, how could I? What had been drugs, what had been symptoms of _this?_ It had all been a blur of paranoia and deductions and cocaine highs.

“I will inform you of when Sherlock is allowed visitors, don't expect it to be soon.” With that the doors slammed and the van drove off. Funny, Mycroft had sounded colder than usual, and was definitely blunter.

Probably just stress. Too much had happened recently. Far, far too much. And now Sherlock was... whatever was going on. After effects of the drug trip? No, that didn't seem right, this was different, Sherlock was still lucid. He just... he just didn't seem _entirely_ in this world. He knew what was going on around him for the most part. But he didn't remember the hospital, at least, he remembered _parts_ of the hospital, but not all of it.

Mainly, he had forgotten that Culverton Smith was in prison, that we had caught him. He was convinced that the serial killer was still out there, and that we had to crack the case to get him arrested. I tried telling him, over and over, that Culverton was in custody, but he didn't remember, he never listened, just kept on, more determined than usual, and certainly more manic.

Could this be a brain injury, caused by Culverton’s attack? There had been brain scans, though, tests had been run, Sherlock was fine. His brain itself was fine. It was something else, something different, but _what?_ I didn't know, and I was scared to find out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all the kudos and comments, this fic is a scary one to write, for many reasons, the encouragement really helps build confidence!


	3. Chapter 3

2 Sherlock's POV

It was... bright, very, very bright. The light was stabbing into my eyes, even with them closed. There was... was that a buzzing sound? Faint, but there. Buzzing. Electrical sounding. Footsteps were echoing on tiles far away. Wheels rolling over the same tiles. I... where was I?

"Sherlock, what have you landed yourself into this time?" My... Mycroft? Why was... why was Mycroft here, wherever _here_ was?

"Where, where am I?" I whispered, confused. The sounds and feelings were so familiar, even the smell was familiar, but I couldn't... my brain, it was fuzzy. I couldn't think of where I was.

"You know exactly where you are Sherlock, don't play stupid with me." Mycroft was angry, very angry, "Now stop showing off and tell me, what were you thinking, pulling this stunt?"

I finally opened my eyes to look at my brother, and the thing that immediately hit me was just how _angry_ he was. His eyes were flashing dangerously, knuckles gripping his umbrella handle so tight it was surprising he wasn't breaking it.

Then I noticed the white, sterile walls. And the hard bed, plastic covered bed. And the florescent lights glaring down. It was obvious, so damn _obvious_ where we were. We were, we were in a _hospital._

I couldn't be in a hospital! I couldn't be in a hospital, not where Culverton Smith could get at me! He was... he was always there, had access everywhere, he could get in here! He could get inside and kill me, take me to his favourite room! Then he would go after _them,_ and he couldn't go after them! I had to keep them safe!

I tried to get it up, but my wrists were strapped down, as were my ankles. I couldn't get up, I couldn't protect them, couldn't protect myself! I was going to die; John and Rosie were both going to die! Everyone was going to die!

"Oh don't start, you know exactly what happens when you go off your medications, and we have been here enough times that you should know by now the consequences. Stop acting like this is all new to you." Mycroft spat, "Now how long have you been off your medications? Your doctors want to know."

"You have to let me go! I have to save them! I have to protect them!" they couldn't be hurt, and I couldn't protect them from here! Mycroft had to understand, John, he was in danger, and Sher- _he_ was in danger! I couldn't... I couldn't be in here!

"The Culverton problem has been fixed, Sherlock, there is no reason for panic." Mycroft softened slightly.

"It hasn't! He's still out there! And he's going to kill us all! He's a serial killer, I need to stop him!" I had to stop him, before more people got hurt! I couldn't do anything trapped in here!

"He has been stopped, brother mine, there is no reason to worry about that." Mycroft sighed, "You stopped him yourself, weeks ago. Everyone is safe."

"No they're not!  I haven't stopped him, he's still out there! No-one believes me that he's evil but he is! You have to let me out, I need to stop him!" I had to, I was the only one who could do it! I needed to stop Culverton before more people got hurt!

"He has been stopped, Sherlock. Your illness is telling you differently, and if you had taken your medication, you would know this." Mycroft sighed again.

"I don't need medication! I'm sane! I'm sane!" I was sane, I wasn't making it up! This was real, this wasn't a bad phase! This was real! I swear this was real!

"You are certainly not sane right now, and you won't be unless you listen to the doctors and follow their orders." Mycroft stood, "Please don't fight them this time, Sherlock, don't make this harder than it already is." He turned to leave.

"You can't leave me! Don't leave me here! They're not safe! They're not safe!" I had to get out, I had to save them! I couldn't be left here to rot when such evil was in the world!

"They are perfectly safe. But if it makes you feel better, I will phone Sherrinford, and make sure that everything is secure there, and at Baker Street." Mycroft stopped at the door, looking back at me briefly, "Be well, brother dear. I shall be back soon."

Then he left, leaving me alone, tied to the bed and helpless. Where anybody could get to me. Where _Culverton_ could get to me.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all the kudos!


	4. Chapter 4

3 Mycroft's POV

I took a moment outside the door to my brother's room, composing myself. It wasn't that I hadn't expected this, especially after the death of Mrs Watson and the subsequent drugs binge. But, it was difficult to see. Again.

I wouldn't ever get used to seeing my brother ill like this, to see that brilliant brain of his malfunction to the point of hallucination and panic. But, this was the way things were, and things usually ticked over nicely if Sherlock took his medications. Sadly, my brother was too fond of going off them, self medicating with cocaine, or with the adrenaline of his cases. It always ended in disaster, and this time certainly counted as disaster.

If Culverton Smith wasn't so bloody famous, I would have made him disappear for what he did to my brother in the hospital, but sadly he is famous, and the case was all over the news, so I couldn't intervene. Even if I did, if Sherlock found out, I really didn't want to think about what his mind could twist it into. His illness stereotypically leaned towards hallucinations of government conspiracies, and Sherlock knew enough of my power, and the things the government actually did, if I made someone 'disappear,' especially the object of his problems, it would end badly for us all.

"Back again, Mr Holmes?" a familiar voice asked, voice somewhere between fond and sympathetic.

"It seems so." I sighed, looking up at the woman in front of me. She was a very familiar face in this hospital, someone who had been dealing with Sherlock for years, and knew all my brother’s tricks. She'd had to, otherwise he would have never left.

"At a guess, it was Culverton Smith that set this off?" Doctor Rachel Palmer smiled reassuringly, in a way that encouraged me to talk to her, explain the situation, despite the fact that she already knew the answers. Or at least had extrapolated them as best she could.

"Along with other factors, the file is on your desk in your office. Though some things are still unclear, such as how long Sherlock has been off his medication this time." I was used to this conversation, it had happened far too many times.

"Not a problem, I will see what I can do to establish a timeline for him, just like always." She knew all too well how unpredictable Sherlock was, and had practically gotten into a routine for him whenever he was admitted.

"Thank you, Doctor. If there is anything you need to know, or anything you need, you know where I am." I replied, even though she knew that. The routine and the regularity was a comfort.

"I will keep that in mind. For now, shall I assume that you will keep to your usual visiting schedule?" she asked, I nodded. God, I had to phone our parents and explain the situation. They no doubt had read the news, and would suspect what was going on. But still, it was always a difficult conversation, and always difficult to keep them away from their precious son long enough to get him stable again.

"What about John Watson? I heard that he is Sherlock's friend, and they used to be flat mates, will he be making an appearance at all?" I tried my best not to bristle at the name.

"I would not worry about him, I'll be dealing with him as I see fit." Thankfully John hadn't come with us to the hospital, so he didn't know where Sherlock was, which would be half the battle.

"Of course." She nodded, though looked sceptical, luckily, she knew not to question me.

"I'll be back on Sunday, as usual. If you need anything beforehand, you know my number." My direct number, not the office's. This was a matter far too important to leave to Anthea, no matter how capable she was.

I left the facility, then, heading to the office and preparing to phone our parents, to explain the situation. There was a lot to sort out and organise, now. People to inform, others to avoid, damage to control. And security to increase.

It wasn't ideal to encourage Sherlock's delusions, but in terms of Sherrinford, I found it harmless to give him what he wanted. It may calm him to know Sherrinford was protected, or make him marginally more co-operative. Also, it may be a good idea anyway, who knew how far Culverton Smith's reach went. I doubted he had operatives who could cause harm to a specific target, or that he had knowledge of Sherrinford anyway, but maybe it would be best. Just for now. Until I could visit, make sure everything was secure.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The kudos on this is awesome, thank you! What's everyone thinking so far?


	5. Chapter 5

4 Sherlock's POV

Nobody believed me when I said that Culverton Smith needed to be stopped! They didn't believe that he needed stopping! They all told me that the situation was under control, it wasn't under control! It wasn't under control in any way! He was out there, and he could kill again! he could get to me in here, he could kill me and nobody would know! And then he would go after John and, and, and everyone! He’d get to everyone I loved and _nobody_ could stop him! He was so evil and he would kill us all! He had to be stopped. Why wouldn’t anybody let me stop him!?

“Hey, hey, Sherlock, it’s okay, he’s being taken care of, you’re all safe.” The doctor told me, smiling gently. She looked at me like that too often, like she was harmless, like she wouldn’t hurt me. But she couldn't protect me, not like this, not in here! There could be all the security in the world, but Culverton would get in! He always got in!

“No you don't understand! He’s out there, he’s a serial killer, nobody realises it but he is! I have to stop him!” I had to stop him, nobody else would! Why couldn't she understand that?! Why couldn't _anybody_ understand that?!

“He’s been stopped, Sherlock, he’s not a danger to anybody anymore.” she continued, completely ignoring my struggle against the restraints. Nobody would let me up, no matter how much I screamed about the danger. They just stuck another needle into my arm and sent me to sleep! I couldn't go to sleep like this, I had to be vigilant, had to get out and stop the psychopath at large in London, before he got to me! I was helpless in here, couldn't defend myself, couldn't even run away! I barely survived last time, I couldn't be left like this again, I wouldn’t survive a second attack!

“He is! You haven’t seen the evidence, he’s going to kill us all!” why did _nobody_ understand this?! “Talk to John, he’ll tell you! He’s seen the evidence and met the man, he knows he’s evil!” John had seen it! John had been there the whole time, he knew exactly what Culverton was, he could make these people listen! He had to!

“Sherlock, I’m sure John can explain everything, but you have to understand, the danger is over now, things have been taken care of. You’re all safe.” The woman was saying, looking at me pityingly, a look I had seen on her before, “I know that’s hard to believe right now, but it’s true, and I think you know that deep down.”

“You’re lying! You’re lying to me! You’re all lying! Talk to John and Mycroft, they know the truth!” they knew, they could back me up! I wasn't lying, I wasn't making it up! It was all real, the threat was real!

“Sherlock, I know this is hard, but I swear to you, they’re not going to tell me anything that changes my mind. Culverton Smith has been arrested and taken into custody, and you helped expose him, everyone knows that he’s a serial killer, now. There is no danger to you, John, your brother, or anyone. They’re all safe, everyone is safe.” The doctor sighed, “It’s hard to believe, because you’re off your medications, but it really is true.”

“I’m not crazy! This isn’t a delusion! This is real! He’s out there, he wasn't arrested!” I would have remembered Culverton’s arrest, I would have remembered! I didn't remember anything, and I remembered everything!

And I wasn't delusional! It was real! It was _all_ real! This wasn't like the last times, yes I’d hallucinated Faith Smith, but that had been the drugs! I wasn't on the drugs anymore! I was clean, I swore I was clean!

“Sherlock, you know that’s not true.” She looked at me disapprovingly, “This would go a lot easier if you told the truth. You know from experience that the quicker you co-operate, the quicker you can go back to your normal life.”

“I’m not delusional!” I wasn't hallucinating, I wasn't delusional! It was all real! Everything was real!

I wasn't crazy, I swore I wasn't crazy. Everything I saw was real. I _knew_ it was all real. It had to be. I couldn't be crazy, I couldn't be having another hallucination. The hallucination was the drugs, it wasn't me. I really wasn't me.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments would be greatly appreciated, this fic is incredibly hard to write, for several reasons, so what is everyone thinking of it so far?


	6. Chapter 6

5 Sherlock's POV

Nobody believed me, nobody _ever_ believed me. Even after they let me up from the bed. I tried and tried to get someone, _anyone_ to believe me, but all I was told was that everything had been fixed. But it hadn’t been fixed! None of it had been fixed! Culverton was out there! I had to stop him, before he got to me, got to somebody I loved.

I had to get out of here, before something happened. But how? This place was locked down, with the whole works. Barred windows, guards on every entrance, iris recognition on every ward door, and cameras _everywhere._ Cameras my brother could hack into and watch. He could watch my every move, figure out what I was doing before I even attempted anything. He had eyes everywhere, could stop events, make others happen. He was in control of everything, and he wouldn’t ever allow my escape.

Mycroft had made sure I couldn't escape, and even if I could, there was no way I could think of a plan. My brain, it was so fuzzy. They were injecting me with something every day, it was making the world blur, my feet walking on shaky ground, I couldn't _think_ on it. I knew of all the dangers, of what I had to do, but I couldn't think of how to fix things. I couldn't think of escape plans, couldn't get anybody to believe me, even with evidence, I couldn't even get them to believe that the small, _small,_ hallucination I had had was thanks to a cocaine binge. They all said it was my condition, _all_ of them. The doctors, the orderlies, even Mycroft said it was my illness.

“It was the cocaine Mycroft, nothing else!” I insisted, for the eighth time that day. God, my head hurt. What had they given me? It wasn't my usual dose, that was for certain.

“We both know that that isn’t true. Sherlock, this is your illness, and you know that. The cocaine made the problem worse, but this is certainly your condition, because you haven’t taken your medication.” Mycroft insisted right back, glaring daggers at me.

“I’ve told you, I have it under control! It was the cocaine! Not that that matters right now, not when there’s a serial killer out there, and nobody seems to want to stop him!” my mental health wasn't important, catching a serial killer was! I had to catch the man! If it was the only good thing I did on this planet, I _had_ to get rid of him, no matter the cost to me.

“Culverton Smith is not an issue right now, _you_ are, brother mine. You have been reckless this past year, and have not taken care of yourself, like you promised you would.” Mycroft sighed, “And if you could spend five minutes telling the truth, instead of lying and planning escape routes, then maybe you would be able to see what is right in front of your face.”

“I haven’t been on them for a while, and yet I’ve managed _fine._ Check the Baker Street security cameras, and you’ll see that I’ve been doing _fine._ ” I growled, hating being treated like a child, “And go ask John about how much of an _issue_ Culverton is, then try and justify locking me up like this.” he could explain everything, John was there, he _knew._

“Or I could tell you that Culverton has been stopped, and say that you are here for a reason, and that reason is that you have fallen, once again, off the wagon.” Mycroft shot back.

“He hasn’t been stopped! Nobody has stopped him, nobody even believes that he’s a serial killer, but he is! He’s a killer, he told me himself, he tried to _kill_ me! And you’re all sitting here like that’s completely normal!” I was threatened on a regular basis, had nearly been killed many times, but damn it I was believed when it happened usually! _And_ I was helped to take down whoever it was!

Apart from Mary, we helped Mary, because Mary had been an exception. John loved Mary, and loved the child growing inside her. Didn't matter if I didn't like her or not. We helped Mary.

Look where that had gotten us...

“I am sitting here because you are ill, Sherlock, and I am trying to help you, before you spiral to a place you can’t crawl out from.” Mycroft shot back, “I understand that life has not been easy for you for a while, but that does not excuse you making things worse for yourself.”

“I am _not_ making things worse for myself! I’m _trying_ to catch a serial killer!” he didn't understand, _nobody_ understood! Or they didn't _want_ to understand, they just wanted me quiet, out of sight. Out of trouble.

“By going off your medication, replacing it with _cocaine,_ and going on such a large drugs binge you almost died? That is _not_ catching a serial killer, that is actively _killing_ yourself.” Mycroft’s voice was like acid, “If you wanted help, if you _needed_ help, you could have come to us. You could have told someone that you were struggling, and we would have _helped._ There was no need to ruin the balance we have all fought to give you.”

“I didn't want help! I didn't want _anything_ but to stop a serial killer!” who cares how I did it?! Who _cared_ what I did to myself to cope?! It was _my methods,_ and if it worked, what did it matter?!

“And you wanted to save John.” Mycroft continued, he had seen the video. Damn it, he had seen the video.

“You weren’t supposed to watch that!” that was meant for _me,_ and _me_ only. It wasn't meant for anyone else!

“And you weren’t supposed to _listen_ to a dead woman’s wishes if it meant that you nearly _died._ ” Mycroft glared.

“What was I supposed to do?! I _killed_ her! I _killed_ her, separated John from the love of his life and left his daughter motherless! Was I supposed to leave them alone, never go near them again?! I had to do _something!_ ” I shouted, guards edging closer.

“By going off your medication and deciding to go hunt down a serial killer, inviting him to kill you?” Mycroft didn't understand, of _course_ he didn't understand!

“What else was I supposed to do? How else was I supposed to save him? I couldn't save him any other way!” John didn't accept help, I _had_ to force him into action, had to create the danger he craved, do whatever I could to get him out of the hole he had dug for himself!

“You could have done _anything,_ Sherlock, _anything,_ and instead you decided to self destruct, again.” Mycroft sighed, seemingly exhausted, “Always your go-to option, always thinking it’ll work. When really, all it does it send you back here, instead of where you want to be.”

“If you know where I want to be, why don't you just _let_ me go there?” I hissed at him.

“Because losing you would break my heart.” Mycroft answered, getting up and leaving the room.


	7. Chapter 7

6 John's POV

Rosie kept me reasonably occupied for a while, but Sherlock was still on my mind constantly. I tried my best to think of his symptoms and what the problem could be, but psychology hadn’t been my area. The physical body was what I was good with, not the mind, and I was sure Sherlock’s problem was with his mind. That brilliant, brilliant mind, and something was wrong with it. That could _not_ be good.

Mycroft had it under control, though, of that I was sure. He seemed to have things under control, judging by how he had swooped in so quickly, before I had had a chance to call him for assistance. Even if he didn't have it under control, the place Sherlock was would have better ideas on how to deal with things. They would be professionals, specially picked by Mycroft himself. He knew the best people to look after his brother.

Speaking of Mycroft, I didn't hear anything from him for _days,_ not even a call to say that Sherlock had arrived at the hospital safely. There was nothing, nothing at all, and it was starting to worry me.

I understood the 72 hour observation period, but it had been longer than that. It had been 5 days, and still there had been nothing. Nobody had heard anything from anybody, and it was starting to make me nervous. Had they made it? Had Sherlock somehow managed to wake up and escape? Was it serious? Did they even know what was wrong with him? I had to phone Mycroft, just to see if he knew anything.

“Ah, Doctor Watson, I was wondering when you would call.” Mycroft answered after three rings, a hint of distain in his voice. Business as usual then.

Then again, the man could hide all manner of emotions under that facade, well... as many emotions Mycroft could feel anyway.

“I just wanted to phone, see how Sherlock is doing, have you heard anything from his doctors, or, I don't know, hacked the system?” Mycroft wouldn’t wait around to find out what was happening to Sherlock, he would have hacked it all already. Or deduced the problem himself.

“Sherlock is doing as well as expected. His doctors have him under control.” Right, right, that was good. Better than I was expecting, given how he’d been recently. I hadn’t been able to control him, he’d been so... so _manic,_ frantic even. Paranoid, too. He hadn’t slept, barely let me out of his sight, and wouldn’t stop going on about Culverton Smith, despite us having caught him. It was like his usual case related focus, but dialled up to the point of insanity. I winced at the idea, thinking of where Sherlock was now.

Speaking of, I didn't even know _where_ he was, all I knew was that he was in a secure facility, I didn't even know what _kind_ of secure facility. With Mycroft that could mean literally anything.

“Great, that’s great to hear. Is there any chance I could visit him soon?” I wanted to see him, see what was wrong, do whatever I could to make him feel better. There was no way he liked being where he was, maybe a familiar face would calm him? Or at least reassure him?

“I’m afraid not. Sherlock’s not accepting visitors right now, he’s not well enough.” Mycroft answered coldly, colder than usual in fact.

“But it’s me, I’m his friend and his doctor, I should be there.” I should have been, I could help the doctors with the diagnosis. I’d been here during the last few weeks, seen his symptoms, seen what he’d been on, I could help! Doctors always needed symptom lists, and I knew all of Sherlock’s symptoms, and what had happened recently! I could be there and doing something useful, instead of sitting here worrying.

“Sherlock is not accepting visitors of any kind, even his _doctor,_ ” the word was spat, like it was something evil, “So there’s no point in asking. His doctors also know how to handle him, so there’s no need for you to turn up to help them with diagnosis either.”

“But,” I started to protest.

“Everything is in hand, goodbye, Doctor Watson.” Mycroft hung up... what the _hell_ was that about?!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry I missed the last update, I'm currently trying to set up my own business, and it's taking up a lot of time, I forgot what day of the week it was!


	8. Chapter 8

7 Sherlock's POV

“For the last time, it was the _drugs,_ not _me,_ that created the hallucinations of Faith Smith! I’m not having another _breakdown_ or whatever else you want to call it!” I growled at my doctor, for the fifth time today, the twentieth time this week, and the _hundredth_ time since I arrived.

“Sherlock, you’re off your medication, and you’re also off the drugs, but you’re still exhibiting delusional behaviour.” My doctor told me, completely calmly, not even flinching at my glare.

“I am not! I am _completely_ sane, and I know _exactly_ what I’m doing.” really, did they really think, after all this time I wouldn’t know when I was delusional? I knew my condition, I knew the symptoms, I was _not_ having symptoms right now.

“You may know what you’re doing, but that doesn’t mean that you don’t have your wires crossed. Your brother is incredibly concerned about you, and brought you here because he was worried about your mental state. And I think we both know that Mycroft Holmes doesn’t mistake your normal behaviour for another delusion.” She raised an eyebrow.

“My _brother_ is obsessed with control and won’t stop until I’m under his thumb.” I shot back, she didn't understand Mycroft at all. Didn't understand how controlling he was, how _obsessed_ he was with power, with keeping me out of the way. He put me away in here whenever I got too much for him, when I was a _liability,_ wouldn’t want the Golden Child to have his career messed up by his _defective_ little _freak_ of a brother.

“Your brother _cares_ about you, which is why you are here, so you can get better and be safe.” The doctor, I’d forgotten her name, answered cooly. Still so damn cool, _always_ so cool.

“I’m _never_ safe, it’s the nature of the job, the job I should be out there doing right now, instead of rotting away in here.” I _had_ to get back out there, had to stop Culverton.

“I mean safe with yourself, you know how bad things can get for you when you’re ill. You forget to sleep, forget to eat, get completely lost in patterns and threads that aren’t there. It’s not healthy, we just want you _healthy._ ” She was practically pleading me to believe her, but I’d heard it all before.

“Culverton Smith is out there _right now,_ planning his next murder, and I _know_ that that... that _cesspool_ of human evil is guilty. I _know_ that that isn’t fake, that it isn’t something I have made up. ask John, he _knows_ I’m right, because he was _right there_ with me in the morgue. He was the one who saved me when Culverton tried to _kill me,_ he _knows_ how dangerous the man is. John may be stupid, but he isn’t hallucinating.” If she just asked John, if she just _talked_ to him, she would know that I wasn't lying. That I was really telling the truth. This wasn't fake, I wasn't having a bad phase.

“Sherlock, we _know_ that Culverton was real, we know that he was a serial killer. But he’s been caught, you helped catch him. he’s not going to harm anybody else.” The doctor leant forward, looking me in the eyes, “I have never lied to you about what is real and what isn’t, and I’m not about to start now. Truly, Culverton Smith is gone, and you are safe, as are your friends and family. He isn’t going to hurt them.”

“You’re lying.” She had to be, there was no _way_ that that was real.

“I’m not, Sherlock, you know, deep down, that I’m not lying.” She looked sympathetic, but she was lying.

“Liar!” I shouted, “You’re lying! You have to be lying! I would _remember_ that and I don't! I don't remember the arrest or anything else! I would remember that! You can’t pretend that he’s gone when he’s not!” guards ran in, but stayed at the door.

“Sherlock, let’s take a deep breath, and take a step back for a moment.” The doctor stood, too, hands up in innocence.

“Don’t act innocent or like you’re not part of this! you’re working for my brother, you’re part of this! you’re all trying to stop me from stopping Culverton! You want us all dead!” it all made sense, came together suddenly in my head. She was working for my brother, she wanted me out of the way, she wanted to kill me and my friends!

“Sherlock.” the doctor warned.

“No! I see it now! You want me out of the way so you can kill my friends! You want to kill them all! But I won’t let you, you won’t get to them!” I lunged towards her, but the guards grabbed me first, yanking me backwards.

“No! You won’t get away with this! I won’t let you get to them! You can’t hurt them!” I cried out, struggling desperately against the guards holds.

“I’m sorry, Sherlock, I’m so sorry.” She whispered, a needle in her hand.

“No! no! Don't inject me, don't send me to sleep! He’ll kill me!” he’d get to me in here, too, he could get anywhere. He’d kill me and I wouldn’t be able to stop him or save anyone!

The needle stabbed into my arm, and the world went black.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What's everyone thinking so far? Any ideas about whether Sherlock's ill, or if he's still on drugs, or if everyone is lying to him? I'd love to know!


	9. Chapter 9

8 Mycroft's POV

“Yes, Mummy, I’ll make sure that Sherlock is well looked after.” I rubbed my forehead, feeling a headache coming on. I’d been reassuring Mummy for the last half hour that her precious son was safe and in good hands, despite the fact that she _knew_ that. Sherlock was in the same facility as always, with the same doctors, orderlies and care staff as always. She _knew_ that that was a safe place for him, and they would look after him well, unlike other places.

Sentiment, and motherly love, it overruled all logic.

“Good, because if I find out my son has been mistreated, I will turn absolutely monstrous.” And didn't we all know it. The doctor who dared to rediagnose Sherlock as a sociopath still hadn’t recovered from her tirade, and neither had the doctor who refused to call Sherlock by his preferred name.

And that wasn't even mentioning the one who had hinted, _hinted,_ at Sherlock being responsible, or at least a contributing factor to Sherrinford. I was still half surprised, to this day, that he was still alive, and we hadn’t had to bury him.

“There is nothing to worry about, Mummy, he’s as safe as he can be.” I answered, I was going to need a drink in a minute, “Once he’s more stabilised, I will make sure that you and Daddy are taken straight to him for a visit.” That wasn't a day I was looking forward to. Sherlock didn't like Mummy’s fussing at the best of times, let alone at a time like this. Daddy, he could deal with. Daddy was better with... _emotional_ situations. Mummy was a little more... well, like Sherlock. Logical until someone she loved was in any sort of trouble.

“There’s still no chance of him getting drugs, is there?” Mummy asked.

“My men investigated the entire building and I personally looked over every patient and staff member. The only drugs Sherlock will be taking are his medications.” Of that I could be sure of, Sherlock wouldn’t be going anywhere near cocaine, morphine, heroin, or _anything_ else for that matter.

“Good, make sure of it, Mycroft. I don't want him back on drugs again, he’s been in too much of a state recently, and that will only make it worse.” Mummy worried, I didn't even consider mentioning that drugs had played _heavily_ in this relapse. Or at least hadn’t helped matters. She didn't need to know that. The bruising had disappeared from Sherlock’s arms, she would never know. She could blame all of his behaviour on the illness, and that was better than breaking her heart further.

“Thank you, Mycroft, we couldn't do this without you.” Mummy calmed marginally.

“Anything for Sherlock.” I had let myself slip into a false state of security too many times, it wouldn’t happen again.

“Still, thank you. We couldn't give Sherlock as much as you can, because of you, Sherlock stands the best chance of making it through this.” Mummy was smiling, I could tell.

“I do my best.” I answered, “Which means I have to go now, so I can continue making arrangements.” I didn't actually, I just didn't want to hear anymore of Mummy piling on pressure.

“Okay, thank you for telling us, Mykie.” Mummy hung up, before I got to chance to correct my name.

“Drink, Sir?” Anthea appeared, a glass of scotch in her hands.

“Yes, thank you.” I took it, downing it in one, the burn pleasant. I could take on dignitaries, diplomats, leaders of powerful countries, without batting an eyelid. But talking to Mummy about Sherlock, it was more a battle field than any meeting could ever be. She was always so _protective,_ and I always had the impression that she would resent me for life if I failed her precious boy. I did my best to please her, to keep my brother safe, make up for previous mistakes, but it was hard, _so_ hard.

“Is there anything I can do to help, Sir?” Anthea asked, phone already in hand, ready to start organising.

“Not right now, everything is as in hand as it can be.” I hadn’t had my daily update from Doctor Palmer, Sherrinford was secure, and with new security measures. Mummy and Daddy were informed and comforted, and the only country that was causing trouble currently was the USA, though they were currently behaving themselves. There wasn't anything to be done, accept monitor and wait to see what happened.

“Okay, well if anything changes, you know who to call.” Anthea left, leaving me in a silent office, wondering just what to do now.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the comment and the kudos, I love hearing what you guys think!


	10. Chapter 10

9 Sherlock's POV

Days started to blur into one, only punctuated on Sundays, when Mycroft visited. Every day between was filled with trying to convince _someone_ that I was right, and trying to escape. But my head felt like it was filled with cotton wool, and I was so _tired,_ all the time, it was blurring my vision. Even on low level medication, I was experiencing side effects, and there were talks to up it, if it went up any further I was afraid I wouldn’t even be able to think again. I couldn't _think_ like this. The deductions were sluggish, half hearted, and mostly about the patients and staff surrounding me.

Familiar orderly number four had just had child number four, and was arguing with his wife over money. Orderly number seven was having a mid-life crisis. Patient number twelve was suffering from an eating disorder, caused by his parent’s constant emotional abuse. Three was having an affair with a married man on the outside. Eighteen was _clearly_ dealing with bipolar disorder, not depression, judging by cyclic rhythm of their behaviour, not that the doctors here had noticed.

Shooting the deductions at their targets didn't end well to say the least. I was attacked twice, shouted at four times, and caused a breakdown, all in the space of a week. I was removed from all group activities. I was only allowed into general population with an orderly, or doctor, present. Not that it mattered, I spent so much time confined to an isolation room, or knocked out, I didn't notice the difference.

 I couldn't _do_ anything else, there was _nothing else_ that I could do. The drugs were slowing me down so much, and I couldn't escape this place without help. I would have faked taking the pills, but my doctor knew better than to give me pills. Everything was administered through injection needle, in one of my last remaining good veins. I fought against it, every single day, but nobody listened. _Nobody_ listened to anything I said. Only said that I was either still in a delusional state, or that whatever it was, was for my own good.

It wasn't for my own good, none of it was for my own good. I had something to do, something _important,_ and every person in here was against me. Even my brother was against me.

And John... I didn't know about John. He hadn’t visited. Or called. Or anything. I hadn’t heard from him since the day I had been brought here. I hadn’t heard from anyone on the outside, apart from Mycroft. I didn't even know if I wanted visitors, to let people I cared about see me like this, trapped in this facility, dressed in the clothes that marked me as a _psych patient,_ the black sleeve trimming marking me as a _dangerous_ patient, one to watch for.

I didn't see anyone anymore. Just my doctor, the orderlies, and Mycroft, patients in passing. No-one I wanted to see, no-one who believed me, no-one who cared.

If Culverton got to me in here, would they ever find out? Would they know that he killed me, would they stop him? Or would they go on, blissfully ignorant, until Culverton came for them? He’d come for them all, I knew he would. They’d all be defenceless, he’d make it look like an accident, or frame someone else. He was clever, so clever, he could accomplish _anything._ He’d get them, after he got me, and they’d never have even suspected anything. Not until it was too late.

I needed to get out of here, but I couldn't. I couldn't find a way out, no security failures, no easily bribed orderlies, and no brother to sign my release forms. I was stuck here. Defenceless and completely unable to warn anyone of the danger that faced them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short chapter, but I didn't want to drag it out too far. What do you guys think?


	11. Chapter 11

10 Sherlock's POV

“I hear you’re experiencing some anxiety, would you like to talk about it?” my doctor, whatever her name was, asked, during a session.

“I’m trapped inside a psych ward with no way out, when a _serial killer_ is on the loose, why do you _think_ I’m anxious?” I glared at her venomously, not caring what she thought of that either. She was keeping me bloody _prisoner,_ while I was supposed to be out catching a serial killer, protecting my friends from said serial killer, of course I was going to _glare_ at her. If I couldn’t make her go away, because she was far too used to me, then I could at least make her feel uncomfortable.

“You’re not trapped here, Sherlock.” she started, but I cut her off.

“And yet I’m not free to go, I’m _stuck_ in here, not even allowed into the bloody _gardens,_ and drugged so much to the point where I can’t think. Somehow, I don't think I’d call that anything other than _trapped,_ apart from maybe _imprisoned._ ” Like Culverton should have been, if anybody actually cared to listen and let me catch the man.

“Sherlock, we have gone through this before, you are here for your own good.” She answered, just as always. Nothing ever changed. Same speech, same room, same chairs, every single turn. The world kept turning, yet nothing ever changed.

“I’ve already told you, I don't _need_ the medications! I don’t need to be drugged to be functional! I went off them and discovered that a serial killer had gone undetected for _years,_ how is that bad for my health, or anybody else’s for that matter?” I growled, it was the only reason why you got locked into these places, when you were a danger to yourself or others. Otherwise they let you roam free, with easily avoidable therapy sessions.

“I’m not disputing that it’s a good thing that you found a serial killer, I’m disputing the fact that you put yourself in danger to do it. You fell completely off the wagon, started taking cocaine, and binged on it so much you nearly died, yet you didn't stop. You didn't ask for help, even when you started having a hallucinations.” She lectured, always bloody lecturing, going round and round in circles, not understanding that I _didn't care._

“It was the drugs fault for the hallucinations! It wasn't my illness!” I argued with her, “And the drugs themselves were _necessary_.”

“Because Mary told you to save John? How does saving John include going on a drugs binge that should have killed you, let alone picking fights with serial killers?” she questioned, of course she didn't understand, she would _never_ understand.

“Because it was! I needed his skills as a doctor, and to trigger his need for danger! I needed him to see that I was in serious danger, and _force_ him into helping!” she was never going to take that as an explanation, but it was the truth.

“Sherlock, there were other ways to help, other ways to work through your own feelings too. I understand that you had gone through something very traumatic, and that you aren’t very good at working through your emotions, but there were better ways to handle the situation.” Bloody lectures, always bloody lectures.

“Like, _talking_ to someone? Tried that, didn't help.” Ella was a barely functioning moron, and an utterly useless therapist, but I had _tried,_ before the hallucinations started, before I went off the band wagon, I _tried_ and it _didn't help._ Hunting down Culverton, that helped. It focused on work, and work was such a good distraction from grief and pain. And it gave me an in to save John, too.

I had saved him, I had brought him back from the brink, saved his life. And now he was in danger again because Culverton was still out there and _nobody was letting me catch him._

“While it’s commendable that you did initially seek help, that doesn’t change the fact that you decided that it was easier to go on a suicide mission.” She countered, “What do you think John would have said, if he found you dead again, if he had failed in saving you?”

“He’s lost me before, he’s used to me not being around.” It wasn't important, he would have come, he _always_ came, when there was danger. Even if he hadn’t, Mrs Hudson would have forced him into action. She had seen the DVD, knew what was going on, she would have made him take action.

“So, you think that losing you, right after he lost Mary, wouldn’t have had much ill effect on him? that he would have just carried on like nothing was wrong?” she raised an eyebrow.

“I don't know, and I don't care, because _it wouldn’t have happened,_ alright? John came, just like I predicted he would. I’m alive, he’s alive, so it’s fine. And what isn’t fine, is the fact that John is now _in danger_ because Culverton Smith is _still out there_ and now probably _looking for revenge._ ” Even as I repeated that, over and over, we still ended up going round in circles. She didn't get it, didn't get my motives, didn't get that I wasn't sick. Wouldn’t even agree to call John to let him explain the seriousness of the situation.

She just carried on trying to tell me that I was ill, that nobody was in danger now, that I needed to _talk_ about everything that had happened instead, that I wouldn’t be allowed out until I did.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the comments, I'm going to continue posting for a while, see how things go.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case anybody missed it, I replaced my previous note with a chapter!

11 John's POV

Days started to blur between work, therapy, and looking after Rosie, with occasional trips to see Mrs Hudson, to see how she was doing. I suspected she was getting a bit lonely, without Sherlock crashing around upstairs at all hours. Besides, Rosie _adored_ her, and she was a much needed female presence in my daughter’s life. They two seemed to be have bonded, and I was all for encouraging it.

And, if I’m honest, I also came over to see if Mrs Hudson had heard any news of Sherlock. I was practically receiving radio silence, only getting tiny snatches of information when I phoned Mycroft, who was even more ice cold than usual. I thought he had warmed to me a bit in recent years... though, I guess when your brother is having some sort of breakdown, it does put a strain on things.

“I haven’t heard a thing from anybody, either, I haven’t even had a single phone call.” Mrs Hudson answered when I asked her, giving Rosie a piece of cut up strawberry to eat.

“That’s weird, do you know if Lestrade or Molly have heard anything?” I asked, it was unlikely, but I had to ask anyway, just in case.

“I don't think so, they would have told us if they knew anything.” Mrs Hudson thought for a moment, “But surely you should have been told something, you’re Sherlock’s doctor, wherever he is, wouldn’t they need his medical records or something?”

“They should, but Mycroft is more than capable of providing that information, but I would have thought that there would have been some sort of, I don't know, interview, with us, so the people looking after him could find out his symptoms.” It was standard procedure, talking to the people in a patient’s life, figuring out symptoms, finding normal personality traits, working out potential triggers. But we hadn’t been consulted at all, and while Mycroft was good, he wasn't _that_ good.

Well, he was. But we had been there, physically seen Sherlock change, watch him devolve from the rational, intelligent man he usually was, to the paranoid, unreasonable man he had become. Mrs Hudson had seen him fall back into drugs again, Wiggins knew what he had been taking, we should have been consulted.

But we weren’t. Sherlock had been whisked away, and none of us had heard from him, or Mycroft, since.

“Are you sure Mycroft hasn’t told you anything? You know that he’s cryptic, he could have said something and you missed it.” Mrs Hudson suggested, wiping strawberry juice from Rosie’s face and hands, so motherly, I briefly wondered why she had never had children of her own, before getting back to the point.

“There’s cryptic, and there’s downright omitting all information, and Mycroft is definitely omitting all information at the moment. I don't even know where he took Sherlock, let alone anything else.” It was all so mysterious, even more so than Mycroft’s usual level of conspiracy. I didn't understand the need for this much secrecy, especially from _us._ Surely, we could at least get updates, know how Sherlock was doing, if there was any chance of a diagnosis, or at least a cause for his break down.

“Maybe... do you think this has happened before?” Mrs Hudson seemed to think she was onto something.

“What do you mean?” I wasn't quite following.

“What if, what if this isn’t a new thing. What if Sherlock’s behaviour is actually nothing new, and he’s actually got a pre-diagnosed condition that’s causing this. That’s why we haven’t been asked for details, or been told where he is, because the doctors know what’s wrong, and he doesn’t want us to see him while he’s ill.” Mrs Hudson explained, that actually made a bit of sense...

But no, Sherlock couldn't have a long term illness, we would have noticed. Surely, we would have noticed something like that. We were around him so often, we would know.

Then again, I hadn’t noticed that he was high on the tarmac, or noticed him leaving the wedding early. And I hadn’t been around that much recently.

It wasn't possible, though, it couldn't be. Sherlock was, well, he was _Sherlock._ I had lived with him for years, I knew his habits, his hiding places, I would have found pills, would have noticed him disappearing for therapy sessions.

Would I though? Sherlock was so clever, a genius at hiding things. He could hide anything from anybody, and none of us would have noticed a thing. The only reason we noticed something was wrong now was because he was acting as if Culverton Smith was still at large, when we had caught him weeks ago. If he had been talking about anyone else, literally _anyone else,_ we would have been none the wiser.

It was possible, but surely not. Sherlock wasn't... he was _Sherlock._ He couldn't be ill, like, _really ill,_ with an existing condition, could he?


	13. Chapter 13

12 Sherlock's POV

“Will you just talk to John, he knows what happened! He can tell you that this is all real, and not me having a hallucination!” I insisted, for the fifth bloody time _today,_ let alone any other day. I had been trying to get anyone to listen for _days,_ yet nobody seemed to care, not one bit. They all just came up with placating phrases and didn't bother to do anything.

It was infuriating, and yet it was the only thing I could do. My bloody brother had me trapped here, with no access to my phone, or any source of wifi, so I couldn't contact the outside world. I couldn't get hold of anybody, and I certainly couldn't prove my theories. This was turning into a never ending cycle, me trying to prove myself, nobody believing me, me trying to get someone to talk to someone who knew the truth, and then me getting ignored. Everyone was acting like I was hallucinating, and, for once I wasn't, I _had_ to prove it, somehow.

“I can’t do that, Sherlock, it’s currently not possible.” My doctor looked apologetic, screw apologetic, I wanted answers _now._

“Why not?! Why can’t you talk to him?!” I had to know, why couldn't anybody get hold of John?

“We don't have his number on file.” The doctor was lying, I could tell.

“Fine, let me talk to him, I know his number.” I held out a hand expectantly.

“We can’t do that.” the doctor answered, there was something behind this, I could see it. But what?

“Fuck the rules and privileges! This is about me proving that I’m sane and there’s a real threat! For God’s sake let me prove it to you!” I shouted, I’d had enough of this, I couldn't keep on going round in circles, couldn't keep on doing this. I _had_ to get out of here, before someone got hurt. Before Culverton struck again, and nobody would let me! I was the only one who could catch him and nobody was letting me do it!

“Sherlock, watch your language,” the doctor warned, “And anyway, your brother-”

“I don't care what Mycroft has to say! He’s not in charge of me!” I shouted, “Now let me phone John and we can sort this all out so I can leave!”

“He’s not in charge of you, no. But he’s in charge of your treatment, while you are compromised.” She explained, like hell he was!

“I am _not_ compromised! I’m perfectly sane and cognisant, now let me phone my damn doctor so we can clear this all up already!” I couldn't stay here, couldn't carry on like this, not while a serial killer was on the loose, ready to hunt down my friends and kill them, in revenge for my attempt to expose him.

“We can’t do that, Sherlock, your brother has specifically requested you don't talk to anybody involved in the incident.” She didn't mean that... she couldn't...

But her body language and facial features told a different story. No signs of lying. Just truthfulness, and apprehension, probably about telling me about this. She had never lied to me before, especially not about something big like this. She had always been truthful, even when it was tough to hear, especially with Sherrinford...

“Why? Why can’t I phone anyone? Why can’t I talk to anyone but you and the people here?! Why can’t I prove that I’m sane?” I didn't understand, I couldn't understand _why._ It wasn't even the drugs slowing me down, this simply didn't make sense.

“It’s... it’s complicated Sherlock.” she answered, at least bothering to look apologetic. I didn't care about _apologies_ though, I cared about getting out of here.

“I don't care about _complicated,_ I care about _answers._ So why can’t I talk to anybody I care about? Or prove myself sane?” I glared at her, prepared to do _anything_ to change her mind. My mind may be compromised, thanks to the drugs I was being pumped full of, but I was ready to fight for this. I couldn't stay here, not when there was danger out there. I couldn't stay here anyway, let alone when something as big as Culverton Smith was out there, ready to tear down everything I had worked for.

“Mycroft has ordered it, he thinks its best for you right now.” she answered.

“Well he’s _wrong._ So get him down here, we need to talk.” More than talk, I needed to _eviscerate_ him for locking me away like this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the kudos.


	14. Chapter 14

13 Mycroft's POV

Doctor Palmer’s call was not entirely unexpected, even if it was three hours early. No matter how good she was at handling my brother, there were days when she needed to ask me something, or run an idea by me. For anything that wasn't a normal daily update, she phoned early.

“Hello Doctor Palmer, I take it that you have a question.” I answered the phone after two rings.

“Hello Mr Holmes, sorry to ring you early, I know you prefer a later call, but something came up.” the doctor replied, sounding worried.

“What has my brother done now?” I sighed, considering hacking into the monitors of the facility. I usually tried to give Sherlock some level of privacy in his therapy sessions, but if he was going to start causing problems, then I was going to have to, just to start predicting outcomes and working out how many things I was going to smooth over with the staff. Again.

“He, well... he’s requested that you come down, so you can talk.” Doctor Palmer did not sound in the least bit confident in this, “He may have discovered that you’re the reason why he’s not allowed to talk to his friends.”

“Ah,” I had hoped that the ruse would last longer. Looks like Sherlock’s mind was still working on some levels, even if it was slowed and distracted by hallucinations.

“I have to apologise Mr Holmes, it was not my intention to let him know, but he wouldn’t stop asking questions, I had to give him some sort of answer. I hope I haven’t caused you too much inconvenience.” Doctor Palmer sounded legitimately sorry, and I couldn't blame her, not really. Sherlock was, to say the least, one of the most stubborn men I had ever come across.

“Not at all, I was prepared for this eventuality, even if I had thought it would come later,” I shrugged off her worry, “I will arrive tomorrow at 5pm to sort this out.”  I didn't ask if it would interrupt the routine of the ward, I knew the timetable inside out. Also, I didn't _ask_ to go anyway, people asked _me_ to come to _them,_ and accepted whatever time I had free to give them. Perks of being The British Government itself.

“Of course, you can talk in my office, to save disturbing any of the other patients.” She was speaking from experience, the last time we had had a ‘discussion’ about Sherlock’s admittance to the facility, it had ended... _badly._ He had had to be sedated, he had become so distressed. Though, he could hardly be blamed, not after Sherrinford, and discovering how much he had imagined at the time, let alone the official diagnosis.

“Yes, and I think it would be best to have an orderly or two as well, just in case.” Always to better to be safe than sorry when it came to Sherlock. He was unpredictable at the best of times, let alone in this state.

“I will have it all arranged.” Doctor Palmer answered with her classic reassuring doctor tone. She even used it on me, despite the fact that I saw right through it. Mummy and Daddy may have found it comforting, but I certainly didn't.

“I will expect so. In the mean time, try not to agitate my brother further, the last thing we need is an outburst, or an escape attempt.” There was a reason why each door had retina scanners, finger prints were useless when Sherlock was around.

“We will certainly endeavour to, I was thinking of giving him his violin for the day, he hasn’t asked for it yet, but I think it would be beneficial to his mood.” Doctor Palmer suggested, I couldn't be more thankful that she took the time to remember the methods my brother used to keep himself calm.

“That would be appreciated, yes, though make sure it’s out of the room before we speak.” The last thing I wanted was Sherlock to break his precious violin by accident. He would never forgive himself.

“Of course.” Doctor Palmer answered, the two of us spoke for a while longer, discussing everything else to do with Sherlock, before hanging up.

Now, I had to come up with a way to say that Sherlock would not be seeing his precious John for a while...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the comment and the kudos!


	15. Chapter 15

14 Sherlock's POV

Mycroft arrived at 6pm precisely, just as he had promised. At least that was something I could trust him to do right. He was still dressed impeccably, not a hair out of place, bloody umbrella still in his hands, just as always. Not a single sign that he was actually acting like an overlord, controlling _everything,_ just like always. And that wasn't even the illness talking, he actually did pull strings, and control everything, especially with me.

“Nice of you to join us.” I glared at him, ready to fight him until he explained just what the _hell_ he was thinking, keeping John from me. Especially when he was in danger, I needed to be able to at _least_ keep tabs on him and everyone else, if not actually _be_ there to protect them.

“No need for that tone, Sherlock, this doesn’t have to be argument.” Mycroft answered, ice cool as always, in control and _completely_ calm.

“Maybe not, but maybe I want it to be. What makes you think you have the rights to decide who gets to visit me or not? What gives you the _right_ to decide that I can’t even _phone_ someone, someone who’s in _danger_ no less?” I argued, honestly, who did he think he was, completely taking over like this, deciding what was right and what was wrong. I wasn't a child, I didn't need everything decided for me, I was perfectly _capable_ of deciding myself.

“I didn't think you would want your friends to see you in this state, they don’t even know that you have an illness.” Mycroft was lying, covering up his real reasoning.

“Doesn’t mean that they can’t be contacted to prove my sanity!” did he honestly think that I didn't know about that, that I hadn’t figured out that he had put a ban on my doctors calling anyone in the outside world who wasn't him? I was off my medication and still recovering from withdrawal, but I wasn't stupid.

“They don’t need to be contacted, when it is clear that you are in trouble.” Mycroft replied, still cool and collected. I _hated_ him.

“I got attacked by a serial killer I exposed, what’s new? You didn't lock me up when Moriarty surfaced, or Magnessun for that matter, what’s so different about Culverton Smith?” there wasn't _any_ difference, each one had come for me in their own ways, hell Mary had _shot me_ and I hadn’t been locked up for ‘protection!’ What the hell was so different about Culverton?!

“That is not the issue, brother mine, and you know it.” Mycroft could not be insinuating that I was delusional again.

“For God’s sake, I am not delusional! I am perfectly _sane,_ and if you spoke to _anybody_ who actually knows me, they would tell you the exact same thing!” I wasn't losing my mind, I wasn't making up this threat, it was _real,_ more real than anything else. Why couldn't he see that? It wasn't the fact that Culverton was famous, Magnessun had been famous _and_ powerful, that hadn’t put me back in this hell hole!

“Is this because of the drugs? Because it’s a little late, I’m _off_ them, and I don't think any one of my _friends_ are going to be bringing me any during a visit!” that had to be it, what else could there be? But surely this could all wait, until after Culverton had been caught. That was more important than me, _especially_ when I was actually off the drugs, and had been successfully for several weeks now.

“That has nothing to do with it, Sherlock, this has nothing to do with drugs.” Mycroft sounded defensive, strangely defensive. He didn't usually sound like this during an argument about drugs, my illness, or any sort of incarceration. There was something else...

“Then why can’t I even _speak_ to John? Why can’t anybody speak to him? What could possibly block him from talking to me, the doctors?” I wanted to know, I missed John, I missed Rosie, I missed _everyone,_ I wanted to know why I wouldn’t even get a doctor to talk to them, even about my so-called delusions.

“Because I said so, Sherlock, it’s for your own good.” Mycroft answered, he was hiding something, this wasn't just him being stubborn, there was something else to this, but what? I didn't understand! Why was he so adamant that I had no contact at all with anyone, in such a time of danger? When a serial killer would be going after-

No.

No, he couldn't... Culverton couldn't have... it wasn't possible...

“Sherlock, whatever you are thinking, it’s wrong.” Mycroft warned, but I didn't hear him properly, the sudden explanation seeping into my brain.

What would could possibly keep John from me? What would prevent everyone from contacting him? Stop them from even telling me how he and Rosie were doing? Stop everyone _else_ from coming, in case they told me?

Culverton had gotten to him. Culverton had gotten his revenge.

“John’s dead, isn’t he?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the comment and the kudos!


	16. Chapter 16

15 Mycroft's POV

“John’s dead, isn’t he?” Sherlock sounded resigned to the idea, completely and utterly resigned. And scared, so scared. I hadn’t seen him look so scared in years, not since he was seventeen, drugged out of his mind, hallucinating and caught up in delusions, unable to tell what was real and what wasn't.

“No, Sherlock, John’s not dead.” Doctor Palmer instantly was at his side, ready to provide comfort, but my brother wasn't crying, wasn't about to go into a meltdown. Not like with Redbeard, not with his... not like after Sherrinford.

He seemed almost... _calm,_ before his face twisted, twisted towards anger. There wasn't a scream, wasn't a low groaning noise, but when he spoke, it was through gritted teeth.

“Where is he?” he asked, fists clenching.

“John is still in his flat, where he has always been.” I answered, trying to sound calm and collected, in charge of the situation, when I felt anything but. This wasn't... Sherlock didn't react like this, not usually. I had seen him lose people, seen how he reacted, this wasn't usually it. His illness could change a person’s normal reactions, but not like this. This was too rational, Sherlock was not a rational person when he was faced with something like this. I didn't know how to handle it, apart from dissuade him from his beliefs.

“Don’t lie to me, it’s insulting. And I wasn't talking about John, I was talking about Culverton, where is he?” Sherlock hissed, eyes flashing dangerously. His whole body was taut, ready to run. He was ready to fight, I could see it screaming from every part of him, he wanted to hunt down Culverton Smith and make him _pay._

“In police custody, just as he has been for weeks now. Sherlock, John is safe, he hasn’t been hurt.” Doctor Palmer cut in before I could, arms up in an attempt to look like a safe, trustworthy person, though she couldn't hide the hint of fear she felt for my brother. I did not blame her in at all, Sherlock was _lethal_ when he wanted to be, and he had had MI5 training since his last stay here.

“Don’t lie to me!” Sherlock shouted, the expected panic starting to break through, “Don’t lie to me! Not again! I won’t take being lied to!”

“Okay, okay, we won’t lie to you. We’ll tell you the complete truth, just like you want.” The doctor placated, very clearly forcing herself to not look at the orderlies at the door, primed and ready to take control of my brother, if things got out of hand.

“Sherlock, look at me, deduce me, and see if I’m telling the truth.” I brought Sherlock’s attention back to me, doing my best to let the walls down, show him that I was telling the truth.

“John is not dead, neither is Rosie, or any of your friends. Sherrinford is secure, everyone is safe, alive and well. There is no need to worry about them.” I spoke slowly, clearly, making sure he heard every word.

“Prove it.” Sherlock challenged, “Prove to me that John’s alive.” I hated that he distrusted me, always distrusted me in this state. I had brought it on myself through past actions, and my job _certainly_ didn't help matters, but I had always done what I had for the greater good. It caused problems, but it solved many. too.

“How would you like us to prove it?” Doctor Palmer asked.

“Phone him. And get up a video feed of him at the same time, and don't try and pretend that you don't have John’s flat under surveillance, I know you do. So, get both set up, let me talk to him, let me _see_ him. Then I’ll know.” Sherlock demanded, an easy enough task, and yet I was reluctant.

I didn't want my brother talking to John, didn't want to encourage the interaction right now. John would not help this situation, would never help the situation, I wasn't about to let him in.

“I’ll do the talking, but you can watch and listen.” I bargained, earning a confused look from Palmer.

Sherlock thought about it for a second, “Fine, but if I see _anything_ amiss, I’m taking over.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the comments and the kudos! :D


	17. Chapter 17

16 Sherlock's POV

Mycroft couldn't be trusted, Mycroft could _never_ be trusted, the man’s secrets had secrets. He lied constantly, found it practically _impossible_ to tell the truth when it was something important, _especially_ when it was important, and to do with me. Look what happened when we were teenagers, he lied and royally messed everything up then.

If he thought it was a good idea to lie to me, to _fake_ this, he would. He’d let me go on thinking John was alive when he wasn't, all to somehow _protect_ me. And if he was thinking I would never find out, read: _never leaving here,_ he was _sorely_ mistaken.

Flanked by two orderlies, we were escorted towards another office, having to stop at every corridor and wait for Doctor Palmer to have her retina scanned before the door opened. Anthea was waiting there, holding a laptop and a phone, both recognisably Mycroft’s own.

“Hand them over.” I demanded first, I wouldn’t have the wool pulled over my eyes by fake phones, or through pre-recorded footage. If John was dead, I wanted to know, I _had_ to know. It would be too late to save him, but I could save everyone else. I could save Rosie, Lestrade, Mrs Hudson, Molly, _everyone,_ I would get out of here, and I would _save_ them. Even if it killed me. Hell, _especially_ if it killed me. What was the point in going on if both John and Mary were dead? What was the point in any of it if two of the people I swore I would protect were dead, leaving behind their infant daughter?

I wouldn’t be able to protect Rosie, or look after her, she would end up with someone else, probably banned from seeing me again, after I orphaned her. There would be nothing for me out there, and certainly nothing in here for me. I’d rather die than live in a world where I caused both of Rosie’s parents to die.

“That isn’t the best id-” my doctor started to protest.

“Give them to me _now,_ or I won’t believe a word _any_ of you say.” I wasn't stupid, I knew when to check electronics for signs of tampering.

“Fine, but I assure you there is nothing out of the ordinary in either device.” Mycroft sighed, but handed them over, letting me thoroughly check everything. John’s phone number was the same, the video feed was definitely still running, if not just turned off for the moment. When I pressed the call button on John’s number, if was definitely on the ‘call’ section, not on a pre-recorded voice mail.

The laptop screen lit up at the same time, bringing in what _seemed_ to be a live feed from John’s living room. The time was correct, and the show on TV correlated to the one showing in the main communal area we had passed not one minute ago. Rosie was sleeping in her play pen, the mic so sensitive I could hear her tiny baby breaths. Safe, she was _safe._

Though her sleep was shattered entirely when the phone rang. It woke her up with a start, causing her to start crying loudly, tiny lungs producing so much noise it hurt my ears. Anthea turned the sound down slightly, just as John walked into view.

“Hey, hey, shhh Rosie. It’s just the phone.” His voice, I hadn’t heard his voice, seen his face, in _so long,_ I hadn’t... it had been weeks, and there he was, on the screen in front of me. Holding his daughter, smiling at her fondly as he went to pick up the phone.

“Oh, it’s Mycroft, wonder what he wants now Rosie, huh? Do you think he wants to tell us something?” he smiled at his baby, who had calmed at the sound of his voice, “Nah, he’s too secretive for that, isn’t he?” John laughed, finally answering the call.

“Hello?” his voice echoed between the phone and laptop speakers, just slightly out of sync, by milliseconds. He sounded tired, but in good spirits. And most importantly, he sounded alive. He was definitely alive. The phone, the camera feed, it was real, I knew it. I knew it was all real.

John was alive. Thank God, John was _alive._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the comments and the kudos, they really do mean a lot.   
> Just a small notice, I may not update on Wednesday, because tomorrow is my graduation day, and the anxiety of it is really affecting my health currently, so I may be spending Wednesday curled in a ball, trying desperately to block everything out. I'll do my best, but if there isn't a Wednesday update, it'll hopefully be up on Friday.


	18. Chapter 18

17 John's POV

It wasn't like Mycroft to phone during the middle of the day, or at all, really. It was usually me calling him, and him avoiding anything I asked him about Sherlock. To say that this was odd would be an understatement.

“Is everything okay, has something happened to Sherlock?” God, I hoped not, but it was _Sherlock,_ the man attracted trouble. And if he was being kept in a facility like Mycroft said, he would surely be getting angsty, and causing trouble just to entertain himself... but why phone me about that, Mycroft wasn't giving me updates... unless it was serious, _please don't let it be serious._

“My brother is well enough and staying out of trouble as much as he can.” Mycroft answered, there was a muffled noise on his end, like the sound of someone trying to hide tears.

“What was that?” I asked, because that _certainly_ didn't sound right, and I knew it didn't come from Rosie, so it had to be from Mycroft’s end.

“Nothing.” Mycroft answered too quickly, another muffled sound from the other end of the line, this time sounding more like a scuffle.

“That doesn’t sound like nothing, what’s going on?” I wasn't stupid, _something_ was going on, “Is Sherlock hurt?” he better not be, I’d trusted Mycroft to put Sherlock somewhere safe, he’d better not have gotten hurt in the process.

“He is not hurt, as I said before.” Mycroft replied, just as a shout came from the background. A shout that distinctly sounded like ‘let me’ before it was cut off.

“Mycroft, what’s going on?” that shout had sounded like Sherlock, and he didn't sound well, he sounded desperate, and like he was struggling against something. But what the _hell_ was going on, for him to be like this? What were they denying him?

“Nothing is going on, John, everything is absolutely fine. My brother is just being his usual self.” Mycroft answered, the calm tone of his voice at odds with the struggle in the background.

“Then let me talk to him.” I had to talk to Sherlock myself, figure out what was going on. Everything had been kept so quiet, I didn't even know where he was! I had to know what was going on over there, before something happened!

“Not possible right now, Sherlock is not in the right frame of mind for a chat.” Mycroft’s words were completely undermined by the next shout.

“JOHN! LET ME TALK TO JOHN!” definitely Sherlock, without a doubt Sherlock. Couldn't be anyone else.

“Put him on the phone right now!” I shouted back, this wasn't good, this was serious! Something was going on down there, they were mistreating Sherlock, or, or something! What were they doing to him over there?!

“That is not possible right now, John, this is a very delicate situation, and it is not in Sherlock’s best interests to speak to you right now. Goodbye.” Before I could say anything else, the call was cut off, leaving the dial tone in its place.

Dumbly, I stared at the phone for a few seconds, before I felt anger rise up. How _dare_ Mycroft deny me a simple chat over the phone with Sherlock. How _dare_ he hide things about my best friend from me, and allow the obvious mistreatment of his brother. I could hear the pain in Sherlock’s voice, the desperation, he had wanted to talk to me, and desperately, how could Mycroft deny that? How could he separate us like this, so much so that I didn't even know where my friend was, without a single explanation?

Sherlock was in _pain,_ and he was probably scared, and feeling isolated from the world, locked up like he was, going through whatever hell he was going through. He needed friends, and family, and reassurance, and Mycroft was denying that to him. It wasn't fair! It wasn't at all fair! We should have been there for him, should have at least been allowed to talk to him, if not visit! But none of us knew _anything_ about his condition, or, or _anything_ to do with this!

Well, I wasn't going to stand for it. I wasn't going to let Sherlock suffer alone like this. I had helped get him into this mess, I was going to help get him back out again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Made it through graduation without tripping over, or making an idiot out of myself, go me! :D


	19. Chapter 19

18 Sherlock's POV

“Let me go! Let me go! I have to speak to him!” I struggled wildly against the hold of the guards, getting nowhere fast. But I couldn't give up, I absolutely _could not_ give up, not until I spoke to John! I had to speak to him, make sure he was alright, make sure he was _safe._ He didn't know about the dangers Culverton Smith posed to him and Rosie, I had to warn him!

“Sherlock, it’s alright, you can speak to John later.” My doctor lied, using the infuriating placating tone.

“You’re lying! Let me talk to him now!” I had to, I had to right now, while he was _right there_! I couldn't do it later, there wouldn’t be another chance! He was in danger and I had to tell him! I couldn’t lose him, not properly, not like that! I couldn't feel that crushing feeling of loss again, not when I could help it! I had to get to him _right now._

“Sherlock, you aren’t in any state to speak to John, you need to calm down first, and then we can talk about it.” she explained, liar! Always lying! Lying and lying and lying! She wouldn’t let me talk about it later, she hadn’t let me talk about it at all! She deflected everything and pretended that everything was fine!

“NO!” I cried out, desperately trying to get out of the hands holding me still. The laptop was being shut down, the phone collected again, no, no, no, NO! I needed them! I needed them right now! They couldn't be taken away!

“Sherlock, please, we can talk about this in full, but right now, I need you to calm down.” She tried again, she was lying, always lying. Anthea took the laptop and the phone from Mycroft, taking them out of the room, and out of the building, far away from me.

My one chance of contact with John, taken again, before I could warn him of the danger. Why couldn't I do that? Why couldn't I just _talk_ to him about Culverton? It was an active case, something that directly threatened his life, why couldn't I warn him? Why wouldn’t anyone else pass on the warning? Why wasn't John involved in any of this in anyway?

I cried out in frustration and despair, feeling so utterly _helpless._ Held captive by the hospital and my brother, barred from warning the people I loved most about the oncoming danger, unable to even _speak_ to them at all, all connections to the outside world taken. I couldn't protect them, I couldn't save them, if the worst happened, they’d be defenceless. All because I was here, sealed in like a prisoner, like _I_ was the serial killer.

“I know you miss him, Sherlock, but it’s only for a little while, until you’re feeling better.” She smiled, utterly fake. Everything was fake, it was all lies, all a conspiracy against me. I didn't understand, I wanted to understand, and to _fix_ it. I needed to fix it, before it was too late. Rosie couldn't lose her father, John couldn't lose his daughter, nobody could lose anybody else! Not after Mary, not after Reichenbach, not after any of it!

“It’s for the best, brother mine. You will see what I mean in time.” Mycroft sighed, not sounding sorry in the least, exasperated, more than anything else.

“You’re lying! Stop lying to me! You’re always lying!” I shouted, anger raging. This was all _his_ fault, everything was his fault! _He_ was locking me up, _he_ was keeping me from John, _he_ was stopping me from doing anything! He was the reason behind all of it!

“I lie about many things, Sherlock, but never about your health.” Mycroft sighed again, the apologetic tone not registering until weeks later.

“I hate you!” I did, with every fibre of my being, “If John dies it’ll be all your fault! If anybody I love dies, I will _never_ forgive you!” I wanted to hit him, to _show_ him just how angry I was, just how filled with _rage_ I was at him for this. But I was still held steadfast, barely even able to breathe.

“It is a cross I will bear for your safety.” Mycroft nodded to the guard, a sharp sting in my arm making the world blur.

“I hate you.” I managed to slur out, before I was dragged out, barely cognizant enough to notice the move.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry there wasn't a chapter update on Monday, my internet died on me!


	20. Chapter 20

19 John's POV

I wanted to run straight down to the Diogenes to confront Mycroft, but he was clearly not there, and I couldn't wait for him like I used to. One, the guards knew better than to let me hang around, and two, Rosie needed looking after. I would drop her off with Mrs Hudson or Molly, but it felt wrong to leave her in their care for an unknown amount of time. That was what _old_ me did, not _new_ me, the man I wanted to be waited until he had a better plan.

And that plan involved waiting. A day. To make sure Mycroft wasn't wherever Sherlock was anymore. He was visited daily from what I could tell, and if I didn't catch him tomorrow, I would go the next day, and the next day, and the next, until I got hold of him. Mycroft was a man of habit, he couldn't stay away from his precious club for too long.

And yet, the plan didn't fill me with the proactive feeling I wanted. It felt _wrong_ to be waiting, to be acting like Sherlock’s situation wasn't desperate. But what could I do? I had a daughter, a promise to keep, _many_ promises to keep. I couldn't just go rushing off like that, at least not for a case. At least with a case I knew I would be returning to 221b at some point, to relieve Mrs Hudson of her babysitting duties, with this, I had no idea what I would be doing, where I would be going, hell, I didn't even know if I would be going _anywhere._

Every sense wanted to hunt Mycroft down, to find him _right this second_ and force him to take me to Sherlock, not being able to was awful.

“Come on, Rosie, let’s have go and get some dinner, yeah?” I bounced my little girl on my hip, deciding that maybe a distraction would be useful. I needed a distraction, before I did bottle it and go racing off. And Rosie needed feeding, and bathing, and putting to bed. It was important. And what a father did with their child, something I could do right now that was useful.

Rosie only smiled at me, and thankfully ate her blended carrot meal without complaint. She made a mess, leaving smears of orange all over the place, including her hair, of all places, and that was nothing to say of the highchair, the floor, and her clothes.

“You’re very lucky you’re cute.” I managed a laugh, doing my absolute best to focus entirely on getting everything cleaned up and not think about Sherlock and tomorrow. He’d be fine for twenty four hours, he was clever, resourceful, knew how to handle himself. He’d be able to look after himself, just as always.

But he was so ill, had been completely out of it the last time I saw him, and he’d sounded so _scared_ during that phone call. Absolutely terrified in fact. What were they doing to him, wherever he was?

Was he being hurt? Were the staff trying to drug him into obedience? Were they locking him up in solitary, we’d seen the effects of solitary on him before, it lead to drug binges. And it wasn't like he couldn't get hold of drugs, if he’d gotten hold of lethal amounts in _solitary confinement._

No, Mycroft would make sure he wasn't back on the drugs again. Surely. He would... right?

“Ba!” water splashed my face, making me realise I had been voicing all of this out loud to Rosie, while she was splashing innocently in the bath, reaching out for a rubber duck painted to look like a Victorian detective. She had taken a shining to that particular one, maybe it was the deerstalker on its head, maybe it reminded her of Sherlock, like it did me.

“You miss him too, don't you?” I sighed, pushing damp hair away from her eyes.

“Da!” Rosie replied, grabbing the toy and smacking it against the water.

“I do as well, but I’ll get him out, I’ll make sure he’s safe, just like always.” I promised, sighing, yet swearing I would. I’d get Sherlock back somehow, sort out all of this, make sure he was safe.

He wouldn’t be suffering for much longer, of that I was going to make sure of.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the comments and the kudos!


	21. Chapter 21

20 Mycroft's POV

My brother was settled back in his room, and once I was sure that he was safe, I left, thinking it best. I was riling Sherlock up further than necessary, and it wasn't doing him any good.

Today in its total had been a mistake, and a rather large one at that. I had not meant to make it sound as if John was dead, but at the same time, I should not have let Sherlock anywhere near devices that would give him the opportunity to talk to the man. It simply wasn't happening. I forbid it. after everything that had happened recently, I refused to let John anywhere near my Sherlock. it was cruel, but it was a case of being cruel to be kind. Sherlock didn't need John interfering, he needed his doctors.

Sighing, I climbed into my car, heading to the Diogenes. It was silent there, and I wouldn’t be disturbed by anyone but Wilder, and that was only when I needed him for something, like getting more whisky. Though, luckily the man seemed to know when it was appropriate to leave the bottle, instead of a glass, and today he set the bottle down without a word.

I didn't drink it all, of course. I would have never been so destructive, but I drank enough to take the edge off, to leave a pleasant buzz behind, enough to forget the look of pure desperation on my baby brother’s face. Enough so I could forget for a few hours and sleep into the next morning.

He had looked so _scared_ and _desperate,_ even when medicated to calm him down. When he’d been lain on his bed, he’d looked so young, so vulnerable, like he was sixteen years old again. Sixteen, and passed out from exhaustion after a night of screaming from despair.

I would do anything to make sure that look never crossed Sherlock’s face again. anything at all. Anything... apart from give him John.

And just as I thought that, John stormed in. _Speak of the devil and he shall appear._

“What the _hell_ is going on?” he demanded, whole body tense, fists clenched in anger. Ah. He had heard Sherlock during yesterday’s phone call. Wonderful.

“You are currently disturbing a very sacred silence, but what else is new?” I managed to answer, trying to sound even slightly like my usual self, when I felt anything but.

“Don’t play with me, Mycroft, where the _hell_ have you put Sherlock, and what the _hell_ at they doing to him?” John shot back, he wasn't going to be placated, he was a man on a mission this morning. I had hoped he wouldn’t barge in for a while longer, but it seemed I had miscalculated. Well, in my defence, I had been... _distracted,_ recently.

“Sherlock is safe inside a facility, which is equipped to cope with his problems. As for what they are doing to him, they are treating him.” obviously he would get the wrong end of the stick, thanks to Sherlock’s antics, but I still wasn't going into specifics.

“Treating him _how?_ ” John growled, “And don't say something poncy to put me off, _what are they doing to him?_ ”

“They are treating a long time condition, just as they always have.” I answered instead.

“So it’s something he’s already been diagnosed with, not a new thing?” John seemed to think nothing of that, at least he was clever enough to figure _that_ out.

“Of course. and the doctors know what they’re doing, no need for you to swoop in like a knight in shining armour to save him.” I wouldn’t let him anyway, even if I did, he wouldn’t get far. The place had security so tight, it excelled Baskerville.

“They don’t sound like they do! he sounded like he was in _pain,_ Mycroft. He was crying out for _me,_ why is he doing that? and why can’t I see him?” John argued.

“Because it is against poli-” I started, but got cut off.

“Fuck policy, he’s my _best friend_ and he’s in pain, _let me see him_!” John shouted, swearing was so unimaginative.

“No.” I answered simply.

“No? what do you mean _no?_ I want to see him, take me to see him!” John demanded, in any other situation, I would have found his self-righteous anger amusing, today, I was not in that mood.

“I said no, and I mean it. you are not permitted to see my brother, or talk to him, or do anything of the sort.” I couldn't protect Sherlock in the outside world, but I could sure as hell protect him while he was ill.

“WHAT?!” John shouted, about to go into another tirade, but guards came in, grabbing him by the arms, he fought valiantly, but was soon subdued.

“You will not be talking to my brother at all during his recovery, let alone being allowed in the same room as him.  if I get my way, you won’t be allowed near him ever again.” I stood up, towering over the man in front of me.

“What?! I didn't do anything!” John glared icily, but I was icier.

“Of course not, Sherlock just _happened_ to fall off the bandwagon, without _any_ sort of input from _you_ and your actions.” I nodded at the guards, who dragged John out, arguing all the way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the comment and the kudos, I love hearing what you guys think of this! Anyone got any theories about why Mycroft hates John now?


	22. Chapter 22

21 Sherlocks POV

The medication wore off eventually, leaving me sat in my room, _furious_ with Mycroft, the therapist, and just about everyone else in the damn world.

What the _hell_ was going on? Why was this happening? Mycroft didn’t ever act like this, he let me have contact with who I wanted, even if it was just through phone calls, he didn’t restrict like this, neither did this facility. They were reasonably good with me and my various problems.

It had to be a conspiracy against me, a plan of some sort, Mycroft trying to keep me safe or something ridiculous. Not that I needed to be kept safe, I could look after myself. But _why_ was Mycroft trying to protect me? What could be so dangerous out there, that he wanted me out of the way, and kept _here_ of all places? Why try to convince me I wasn’t well again, when I clearly was fully functioning? He knew Culverton was dangerous, knew he had made an attempt on my life…

He couldn’t be trying to protect me from the man, could he? Surely not, I was perfectly healthy now, and had enough self-preservation to fight against any attack. And I had John back, now, he would watch my back when I needed him to.

Could Mycroft be trying to protect my reputation? No, that had been shattered once already, that didn’t matter at all. Anyway, reputation didn’t matter, as long as I was _right,_ and right I was. I knew I was. I was definitely right, and knew that Culverton was a serial killer, I _knew_ that he had grown from the deepest cess pit of evil. There was no two ways about it, I knew he was evil, even Mycroft could see that. Any reputation I had damaged would be restored the minute I proved Culverton’s crimes.

No, it had to be something else, it _had_ to be something else. But _what?_ There was nothing else that was a danger to me!

Unless it was the drugs.

No, couldn’t be the drugs. I was off them. Cold turkey. Doing well, watched constantly so everyone _knew_ I was clean. And that didn’t explain why everything thought I was getting ill again.

“Why is Mycroft doing this to me?” I demanded as my therapist came in, stopping pacing the room to glare at her, in the vain hope that it would intimidate her enough to get her to answer.

“He wants you well, Sherlock, nothing more.” It was a lie, I could tell it was a lie.

“It’s not, I know that it’s not, he’s never like this when I’m ill! He lets me talk to those I need to, he allows me visitors! He even lets me _out_ on occasion!” he had organised it at least five times, especially when I was first diagnosed! He wasn’t usually like this, he didn’t _lie_ about my mental condition, he didn’t treat me like this!

“If you want to visit your brother, you only have to ask, Sherlock, you know that.” My therapist answered calmly, “Would you like to visit your brother, it can be arranged if you want it.”

“No! I want to see John, and _that’s_ where the problem lies! You’re all purposely keeping me from my friends, and I want to know _why._ ” I had to know, I had to know _why._ There was no sign of grief on John, or any sign of anything amiss in the video feeds from his flat, so clearly no-one had died, or been injured by Culverton, or anyone else for that matter. So why was I being kept from them? Why was I here, not out there with them? If I had to be kept safe, why weren’t _they_ under protection, too? Mycroft knew how important they were to me, he wouldn’t leave them unprotected!

“I can’t answer that, Sherlock, you would have to talk to Mycroft about it.” She answered.

“I tried that and all I got was a _glimpse_ at John before he was pulled away from me again!” I needed to know! I needed to know _right now!_

“Sherlock, I need you to calm down and breathe.” She held her hands up, faking innocence.

“NO! Not until I get answers! I need answers _right now!_ Why can’t I see my friends? Why can’t I talk to them? Why is everyone _insisting_ that I’m ill and not letting me have the chance to prove that I’m not!?” I couldn’t take this anymore, I needed answers! I had to have answers!

“I’m sorry, Sherlock, I really can’t answer those questions. All I can say is that Mycroft thinks it’s for your own good, and that it would be best to go along with it for now.” She looked apologetic, but I didn’t care, _I didn’t care._ I needed to know _right now_ what was going on!

I couldn’t do this, I couldn’t be separated, locked up like a rabid animal waiting its execution. There was something going on, and I had to find out what it was!

I had to get out of here, I had to escape, get home, and solve this, before something awful happened. I was the only one who could stop something happening, I _had_ to get out to prevent it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for the comments and the kudos, it means so much!   
> Also, quick warning, at some point in the next few months, I don't know when, I'll probably disappear for a week or two. I won't have abandoned the fic, or anything like that, and I will get back to it. But, sadly, the worst will have happened, and I'll have lost my nan, who I'm currently caring full time for. So, if I disappear for a bit, that's why, and I will come back and finish this off, I'll just be needing a bit of time.


	23. Chapter 23

22 Lestrade’s POV

“So, he kicked you out, and essentially banned you from seeing Sherlock?” I summarised John’s explanation of the last few days. It didn’t add up, why would Mycroft do that? John wasn’t a danger to Sherlock, and they were best friends, why wasn’t he allowed to see him?

And why weren’t any of us allowed to even speak to Sherlock?

“Yeah, but I haven’t done anything!” John sighed, “Was he ever like this with you, when Sherlock was in rehab?”

“No, not really. I mean, at first I was just allowed phone calls, but after seeing how much the cases helped Sherlock, he let me visit, sometimes outside of visiting hours, when it was necessary.” There’d been this one case, a kidnapping of a baby, time had been essential and Mycroft and the staff had let me interrupt a therapy session to get Sherlock’s advice. In fact…

“There was this one case with a kidnapped baby, and Sherlock was allowed, for a short time, onto the crime scene. Completely off the books, of course, but he was released into my custody.” This sudden seclusion didn’t make sense, Sherlock had always been allowed visitors and phone calls with anyone he wanted, no matter how bad the addiction got. I had _never_ seen him so forcefully cut off.

“And that’s without Mycroft implying that there was some sort of mental illness involved.” John bit into one of the dumplings from the takeaway carton on the table. Rosie huffed in her sleep over the monitor.

“And it’s not being a sociopath.” That kind of thing didn’t steadily get worse, or cause psychosis.  

“He’s not a sociopath, if anything, he’s got Aspergers.” John replied, “And that doesn’t require inpatient treatment like this, not unless it’s severe enough to limit a person’s ability to look after themselves.”

“Exactly, and that doesn’t generally cause him to act like he was.” I had seen him once, in the week leading up to his admission to wherever, and he’d been absolutely out of it. Running around the flat, connecting the dots in Culverton Smith’s case, barely even paying attention to anybody around him, looking half way to psychotic. I hadn’t stayed long, my presence had only made things worse, as he almost violently demanded for me to arrest a serial killer we had already caught.

“Has he ever been like this before, outside of a case? And where did they take him, you said you visited him on occasion, do you think you could get us back there?” John suddenly looked hopeful.

“It’s been years since I last saw him in rehab, and all I could give you would be the description of inside the underground car park. The hospital is secretive and so full of security, you couldn’t sneak even a breath of air out of the place. They even sent a blacked-out car to pick me up for every visit, the windows were so blacked out, I couldn’t see out of them at all.” I really wished I could have remembered _something_ from my trips there and back, but I hadn’t even seen the outside of the building. All I could say for sure was that it was a long journey to get there, and that the building was big, set in the middle of the countryside somewhere.

“Damn it.” John grumbled, “I don’t know what to do, Greg, I really don’t. He sounded so _scared,_ and I want to help him, but I don’t even know where to start. Mycroft won’t help, and no-one can get hold of Sherlock at all. We can’t just leave him where he is, it sounds like he’s in a bad way, possibly worse than he was before he left.”

“He’s always come back fine before.” I tried to reassure him, thinking that maybe this was part of the illness. But at the same time, something nagged at me, saying it was wrong. Sherlock didn’t sound desperate that often, and never without good reason. Sure, he texted me when he was desperate for things like help with wedding speeches, which to most sounded a fairly easy thing to do. But, he only asked for help when he was scared, or completely out of his depth. To have him _scream_ for John, he must have been in huge trouble.

So how could we get to him? How could we sort this? Who did we know who could get access to Sherlock?

“Wait, you’ve met his parents, haven’t you?” they had to know, surely, they _had_ to know where their son was.

“Twice, yes, but I haven’t seen them in ages, why?” John asked, looking confused.

“Well they surely know where Sherlock is, from what you told me, his mother is fiercely protective of him. Why don’t you phone them and see what they know? Or at least tell them that you’re worried for his health, maybe they’ll be able to help.” I had heard John’s account of the Holmes parents, and while they seemed normal, John had always said that Mummy Holmes was a woman to be reckoned with. That and what I had heard from the Holmes brother’s conversations involving her, she seemed like the type of woman who would do anything to keep her son safe, including standing up to Mycroft of all people.

“Greg, you’re a genius.” John grinned, racing to find his phone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the comments and the kudos! :D


	24. Chapter 24

23 Sherlocks POV

“Sherlock, you know that being here is the best-” Mummy tried to explain, but I was having none of it.

“No it’s not! It’s not the best place for me, or any of those excuses everyone keeps on telling me! I’m not ill! I’m perfectly sane and healthy, and none of you believe that!” I couldn’t, my own _parents_ were lying to me, pedalling Mycroft’s version of events. They didn’t lie to me; my _family_ didn’t lie to me about things like this! They were kind, they _helped,_ they didn’t separate me like this! It wasn’t… this wasn’t normal! Something was wrong, something was terribly wrong!

“Sherlock,” Mummy sighed, in her usual sympathetic voice, the one she _always_ used when she thought I was having a ‘bad patch’ and needed condescending to.

“Don’t use that tone with me! Just tell me, _please,_ why is this happening? Why can’t I see John, or anybody but you and Mycroft? Why can’t I leave here? Why won’t anybody give me any chance to prove myself sane?” I needed an explanation! I couldn’t _find_ an explanation! I’d tried, God knows I had tried. But every computer in the building was closely monitored, with firewalls so high they rivalled MI5. The records I had time to get into before getting caught told me nothing. Everything said that I was ill, but this time I _knew_ I wasn’t! I was right, I wasn’t imagining this, and even if I was, it didn’t explain why I couldn’t see my friends! Sure, they didn’t know my diagnosis, but damn it that shouldn’t stop me from _talking_ to them on occasion!

“You know that if you want to see your brother, you just have to ask, Sherlock, that’s never going to be a problem.” Daddy completely missed the point, always, _always_ missed the point. Damn it, why did they always miss the point?! Or completely ignore me?!

“I don’t want to see my brother! I want to see John!” I wanted to see and talk to John, I wanted to see Rosie, Mrs Hudson, Lestrade, Molly, all of them! I wanted to see them and warn them of the danger they were in, to _talk_ to them, get them to fight my corner! I wanted them to be here and not treat me like I was losing my mind!

“Mycroft said that-” Mummy tried to start again.

“To hell with what Mycroft said!” he didn’t know what was best for me, he didn’t _understand_ what it was like to be in here, helpless to do anything! “Just let me see John!” I had to, I had to see him! I couldn’t, I couldn’t keep on doing this, I needed to see him!

“It’s easier said than done I’m afraid. Mycroft seems to think that’s a bad idea.” Mummy answered, “He hasn’t said much about it, just that it’s best to keep you away from your friends.” She looked like she wanted to reach out, hold my hand, touch me for comfort somehow, but she wasn’t allowed. Facility rules prohibited any sort of touch between visitors and patients, especially the angry, dangerous ones like me.

“But _why,_ though?” I was so scared of all of this, I didn’t understand Mycroft’s plan, I didn’t understand any of it. It just seemed... I didn’t even know what it seemed like, really. It just wanted _right._ Mycroft wasn’t like this, not normally. He wasn’t this cruel. He was cruel, but not like _this._

“I don’t know, Sherlock, I really don’t, I wish we could tell you.” Mummy looked sympathetic again, “I’ll have a word with him, see what I can get out of him, alright?”

“Really?” she would try to help? After all these weeks, she’d actually _help?_

“Of course, this is distressing you too much, and I don’t like it one bit. I’ll talk to your brother, find out what’s going on at the least.” She smiled gently, “And while we’re at it, is there anything from home that you would like us to send over? I know you have your violin, but is there anything Mycroft forgot?”

There were a lot of things I wanted, like my chemistry equipment, my phone, and my laptop, but all of it was prohibited. And almost everything I was allowed was already here. Apart from… well, apart from one object.

“There’s a picture, in my bedside table. Can you bring that?” I wanted… I _needed_ it. I didn’t care if Mycroft tried to prohibit it, I _needed_ it.

“We’ll bring it the next time we come down.” Mummy agreed, I wanted to ask for more, but decided against it, not wanting to push it.

“Thank you.” I whispered, grateful that I had someone who would help in any way at all. No-one seemed to want to help me, to have someone to help me was… I couldn’t describe it.

“Anything for my boy, you know that.” She smiled, reaching out to me. A guard coughed subtly, making her retract her hand.

“We’ll see you soon.” Daddy managed a weak smile, he had never liked this place, it always unnerved him, made him quieter than usual.

“Keep an eye on John for me, please?” just as I asked, every time they left. They never told me how he was doing, but at least I had _asked,_ which was all I could do while Mycroft held power over me.

“Of course.” Daddy agreed, he and Mummy watching as I got pulled out of the room, twin looks of concern on their faces.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the comments! :D


	25. Chapter 25

24 John’s POV

The wait to phone Sherlock’s parents was agonising, but I managed it, phoning first thing on the Monday morning, barely able to stop myself from pacing in frustration. What if they didn’t know Sherlock was in hospital? What if they didn’t have a clue he was ill in the first place? What if they couldn’t give me any answers at all?

No, no, they surely had to know where he was. They had to know that he wasn’t well, and they _had_ to know what was going on. They were Sherlock’s _parents,_ they loved him, they wouldn’t not know about this. Not even Mycroft would hide something like this from his parents, would he? He couldn’t, surely not, not without incurring the wrath of the fearsome Mummy Holmes, who I imagined was terrifying when one of her sons was in danger. The way the brothers spoke about her… they knew not to mess with her, or lie to her. They wouldn’t keep something like this from her, I knew it.

And Mummy wouldn’t let Sherlock continue to be scared and isolated in some hospital somewhere, she was so protective of him, she’d make sure he was safe. Even if I couldn’t do anything, she could, she was _Mummy._ Mycroft and Sherlock didn’t dare disobey her, if she knew that her youngest son was in trouble, she’d make sure he’d be transferred, or at least treated better, allowed visitors.

But I couldn’t get hold of her. The phone rang until it went to answerphone. I tried again, and the same thing happened. Over and over again throughout the week, and nobody answered the phone. How was that possible? They couldn’t be out of town! They didn’t go on holiday at this time of year, Sherlock’s dad had told me that himself! He’d said that they go on a line dancing holiday for two weeks every year, between the first and fourteenth of June! It was March, they couldn’t be on holiday!

Where else could they be, though? Who didn’t answer their phone for a _week?_ Or not get back to the people who had phoned? Who didn’t answer the phone when their son was in hospital, when they could have possibly gotten a phone call about him?!

“It just doesn’t make sense! None of it makes sense!” I didn’t understand, I wanted to understand, where were Sherlock’s parents, and why was the _entire_ family unwilling to talk to me? I hadn’t been able to have a solid conversation with _any_ of them since this started! Mycroft barely answered calls, kicked me out of the Diogenes, and the things he did say to me didn’t make sense. Sherlock was completely unavailable, even though he clearly wanted to speak to me, he wasn’t allowed, and it was causing him great distress. And now their parents weren’t answering the phone! What the hell was going on?!

“I know, dear, but you know their family, they’re very secretive.” Mrs Hudson sighed, pushing a cup of tea towards me. I drank it gratefully, needing it to calm my nerves somewhat. I didn’t know what else to do, I’d tried talking to Mycroft, tried getting hold of their parents, what else could I do? I couldn’t barge into the hospital holding Sherlock, I didn’t even know where he was! He could have been in Australia for all I knew!

“Their parents aren’t! They’re completely ordinary!” they were kind and caring, talkative, and weren’t bat shit insane like their children. I would have thought Sherlock and Mycroft were adopted if it wasn’t for the facial similarities.

“Oh, I wouldn’t say that, dear, Violet and Siger have their eccentricities, and have been on an adventure or two themselves.” Mrs Hudson answered, wait… she sounded fond of them, like she knew them…

“You’ve met them?” how had Mrs Hudson met the Holmes parents, I’d thought they were _dead_ until Sherlock pushed them out of his front room!

“Of course I have! Violet is a good friend of mine, and let me tell you now, if she’s ignoring your calls, there’s a _damn_ good reason for it.” Mrs Hudson warned before I could get a word in, “Whenever Violet, or anyone in that family, go quiet, and refuse to answer calls, there is _always_ a good reason.”

“Like what?” what could be more important than their son?

“I don’t know, I never got that out of any of them, even after a few of my soothers.” Mrs Hudson sighed, “All I do know, is that they’ve faced a _lot_ of tragedy, and this is how they cope. They shut themselves out, focus on each other, and protect their family at all costs.”

“Tragedy?” I asked, could Sherlock’s multiple rehab admissions count as that? Or this unknown illness? What else could there be, though?

“Like I said, I have no idea, and I wish I did. Whatever it was, it’s caused a lot of pain in that family.” I guess, that made sense, sort of. But still, I could _help,_ I could tell them that something was wrong, help them get Sherlock better. I was a _doctor,_ and I knew that something was wrong. If they’d let me, I could help somehow.

“I’m sorry, dear, I wish I could help. But Violet hasn’t answered my calls in weeks, so there’s not much we can do.” Mrs Hudson held my arm, gently squeezing.

“But he’s in _pain._ ” I could hear it, Sherlock was in pain, and he was scared. He was _so_ scared, how could I sit back and let that happen to him? How could I let him sit there and suffer?

But there wasn’t anything I could do, I was _stuck,_ with nothing I could do to help. If I couldn’t contact anyone, couldn’t figure out where he was, what else could I do? Nothing. There was _nothing_ I could do. I had never felt more useless in my life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for the comments and the kudos, it means a huge amount to see your thoughts on this!


	26. Chapter 26

25 Sherlock’s POV

Wake up at seven. Shower. Dress. Eat breakfast. Fight off medication. Be forced into having medication anyway. Have therapy. Appear to read a book, really watch for guard changes/weak points in security. Pick at lunch. Walk the hallways, look for literally _anything_ that would be useful in an escape. Deal with dinner. Wait for darkness. Try to get out of my locked bedroom/cell. Be caught and sedated into sleep. Repeat over and over and _over,_ day in, day out, with no escape. My only changes in routine were when I was taken to isolation for disrupting other patients, or getting ‘out of control,’ when all I was really doing was either trying to prove my sanity, or find a way out of here.

I knew that it would be impossible to leave, though. Even my _door_ was electronically locked from the outside. There was no inside lock to pick, no keypad code to crack, just an iris scanner I couldn’t hack, and a timer I couldn’t reach, thanks to it being wired into the bloody wall. I would have broken the damn wall open, but I didn’t have any tools at my disposal. What I wouldn’t have given for a gun right now, hell, even a _hammer_ would do. But all I had were books and my violin, and neither of those would be useful at all. They barely worked as a distraction from the situation, not that I _wanted_ one, I had to focus on the problems at hand.

I was being lied to, there was some sort of cover up scheme going on, and everyone was in on it, including my parents. Mycroft had some sort control over everyone around him, and was trying to keep me separated from everyone important. It had to be something to do with Culverton Smith, it couldn’t be a coincidence that my incarceration and my discovery of Smith’s illegal activities coincided. Nothing was a coincidence; the universe was rarely so lazy to do something like that.

“Sherlock, have you thought that maybe, just maybe, that this is all actually part of your illness? You know you are prone to creating conspiracy theories.” My doctor, Palmer or something, I didn’t care to remember, sighed during another pointless session.

“You’d _like_ me to think that, as that’s the simple answer, and one that’ll make me more likely to act like a good patient so I could get out of here. But Culverton Smith is really a serial killer, and I have proof, if you’d let me explain,” I sent a glare in her direction, “And for some reason, my brother has decided that I’d be better off without my friends and without any sort of explanation for this imprisonment. This isn’t a delusion or conspiracy theory, it’s _actually_ happening, and I know it is because I know that I am sane.” I knew I was, I didn’t make up serial killers, didn’t imagine whole people. When I did, it was because I was high, nothing more.

I exclusively hallucinated voices and people I knew well, and made up conspiracies about my brother, I didn’t come up with serial killers. And, how else did you explain away the fact that I wasn’t allowed to even talk to _any_ of my friends, when usually I was? That certainly wasn’t in my mind, that was _real,_ as real as I was. I knew it was real. Therefore, there really was something going on, I wasn’t crazy, and nobody could convince me that I was.

“But have you thought that maybe Mycroft wants you away from your friends so you can recover properly, without having to face explaining the problem?” Doctor whatever leant forward, resting her elbows on her knees, like _that_ would implore me to answer her.

“No. Mycroft is planning something, I _know_ it. And he needs me out of the way to do it, and for some reason, have me separated from those I care about most.” If this move got them killed, I would hunt him down and kill him myself, but he had to have a reason, there was _always_ a reason for all his actions. Mycroft didn’t do anything without reason.

“There are still some people you are allowed to see.” She continued, like that was a comfort.

“Yes, and they come regularly and tell me _nothing_ about what I want to know. They give me placating lies and when I make some sort of progress towards actually seeing someone I want to see, it’s taken away before I can blink.” I refused to see Mycroft last visiting session, I didn’t want to see his smug face, talking about how this was ‘for my own good’ or it ‘had to be done’ when it didn’t. I couldn’t stand to sit with him for an hour while he lied and lied, acting like this was completely normal.

“And by the way, Mummy is bringing me another picture next week, and I expect to actually _have_ it, in full, in the frame. I won’t settle for some stupid _photocopy._ ” I wanted that photo, it had been too long without out. I had my other one, but I needed this one, too, if I couldn’t _talk_ to anyone, I expected to be able to still _see_ them in some way.

“Of course, we wouldn’t dream of taking that from you.” She didn’t mean that.

“Explains the time you gave me the photocopy perfectly.” I glared again, not in the mood for placating phrases.

“That was a mistake, one we’ve learnt from.” It was just about the only mistake they had ever learnt from.

“At least you’ve learnt one thing over years.” If only they could _not_ learn about ‘me proof’ security measures.

“We do our best to keep you comfortable, Sherlock.” They’d changed my uniform, made sure my room was soundproofed, and made sure the lights in the important rooms weren’t the annoying ones that give out low level buzzing sounds. They’d even let me out to visit important places when I needed to, and yet…

“And yet you can’t do something as simple as giving me a phone call.” I stood up, turning to leave the room.

“Sherlock, the session isn’t over yet.” My doctor told me.

“Don’t care, you’re of no use to me.” I left anyway, stalking down the corridors, wishing I knew _something_ to help the situation. Something, anything at all, so I could at least get to the bottom of this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the comments! :D


	27. Chapter 27

26 Sherlock’s POV

I had to figure something out, had to see for myself what was going on. But how? What could I possibly do to get information? Nobody was telling me anything, Mummy and Daddy weren’t coming for another week, and I didn’t have phone privileges.

I could always try ringing John after lights out, but talking was noisy, anybody could have heard, guards were always patrolling the ward, they’d soon find me. Looking into my file would be easy enough, I knew where the records were kept, but almost everything was online nowadays. Hacking into the computers would be easy enough, but I’d been caught before, could I risk it again?

Damn it, of _course_ I could, and I would. John’s life was in danger, and something was going on, there was some sort of plan against me. Maybe it was in the notes, though would they write it down?

No, they wouldn’t. They were clever here, Mycroft was cleverer, he’d tell them how to hide direct orders about me and my care. He’d have my orders kept under wraps, make sure I couldn’t access them quickly.

I could hack into the cameras in John’s flat, though. I had seen the access code Anthea had typed in when she had brought up the feed, which was half the battle to hack into a system. Unless they had already changed the channels the feed went through, I could easily bring up the feed, and see him. I could see John, check up on him and Rosie, make sure they were safe. If I could just _see_ them, watch over them, I’d know for sure that they were safe. I couldn’t concentrate, not knowing if they were safe or not. If I could just see for myself that they were okay, I’d be able to think more about how to contact them.

So, it was decided, I was going to see John tonight. I was going to watch over him for as long as I possibly could. Now all I had to do was get to the computers without being seen. I’d been caught before, but this time I was determined not to be.

Waiting until lights out was torturous, but I was an expert in blending in, acting like I wasn’t planning anything. It was easy to fly under the radar, until all the other patients were herded into their rooms. There was a tiny gap between final checks and the doors locking, barely thirty seconds, but I could make it.

I moved into position as soon as the guard left my room, crouched by the door, waiting until the guard had checked every other patient on my corridor. His footsteps echoed on the tiles, heading in round the corner in three… two… one. NOW.

Silently, I slid the door open, slipping out, and edging it shut again, the metallic ‘clunk’ signalling that it was locked for the night. Locked, supposedly with me inside. Part one of the mission complete, I allowed a second to smile to myself in triumph, before I quickly made my way through the winding corridors. I deliberately hadn’t worn shoes for the occasion, as they made too much noise. I had to be completely silent, keep in the blind spots of the cameras, and avoid the guards. I had a five minute gap to get to the computer room before the guard came back, so I had to move fast.

I made it to the room in three minutes, silently closing the door behind me and not daring to put the light on, just in case it leaked through the door edges. And, if I chose carefully, the computer I used wouldn’t show through the door, either. In fact, there was a computer whose light wouldn’t shine at all through anything, it was at such an angle it couldn’t be seen from the door at all. Perfect.

Sneaking over, I found that it was thankfully still on, so all I had to do was get inside the supposedly secure MI5 security systems. Not difficult at all, after all, I had been asked to test the security systems years ago, to find all the weak points. I’d found them all, but had left the tiniest one open, just for my own purposes, who knew when a security feed could be useful in the world of criminal investigation…

Soon, I was into the systems, and I quickly found Mycroft’s personal set of feeds. 221A and B, Mummy and Daddy’s house, Bart’s Morgue, Scotland Yard, Mycroft’s home, the hospital, and finally, John’s flat. I headed straight to that one, flicking through the feeds until I found John and Rosie.

They were both asleep, Rosie laying on top of John’s chest, tiny little hand clutched in John’s pyjama pyjamas. John’s hand was lying protectively over her back, twitching whenever she breathed. John had the tiniest piece of Rosie’s dinner in his hair, while Rosie was completely clean, so she had been through her usual bedtime routine of a bath and story before bed. The book was still on the bed in fact, ‘There’s A Monster In Your Book,’ it was called.

All looked calm, and quiet, and _safe._ Nothing was amiss, the small amount of tension around John’s face completely normal. The stress of parenthood left that kind of tension all the time. He was fine, and safe. They were both _safe._

I curled up in my chair, settling down to watch for a while. I hadn’t seen John in _so_ long, I missed him more than I could ever imagine I would. And Rosie, I missed _Rosie_ so much. She was changing every day, was at least two centimetres taller, hair a fraction bit longer, that tiniest bit more toddler-like, despite still clearly being a baby.

She’d soon be learning how to walk, maybe even talk, depending on her developmental level. She was a clever girl, who showed a great amount of intelligence, so she would be talking sooner rather than later. I wanted to be there, to see it, to _hear_ it. I wanted to watch her grow up, to not miss the milestones, and the smaller things. Not be stuck here, having to hack a CCTV camera just to watch her sleep.

I was missing it all, missing so many important things, and leaving them in danger. I wanted to be there, to protect them, to be _with_ them. I couldn’t… why couldn’t I be there?

“Hey, what are you doing in here?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the comments and kudos!


	28. Chapter 28

27 Mycroft’s POV

“It’s all in hand, Mummy, everything I am doing has a reasonable explanation.” I sighed, wishing my mother had not barged into my office like an avenging angel. I was currently trying to deal with several other problems, problems of international importance, I really did not need her coming in and interrogating me.

Though, I guess it was inevitable. Mummy’s precious baby was in hospital again, and was in distress, and I was part of the cause. She’d of course need to investigate, and find out for herself what was going on. At least she was likely to understand when I explained it to her. She usually took my side in matters such as these, though she did like to throw me curveballs on occasion, especially when it came to Sherlock.

“There better be! So come out with it, I want to know exactly why my boy is being denied the right to see his friends, and why he’s begging me to get him a picture from his flat.” Mummy leant on my desk, towering over me in classic intimidation techniques. I had faced down the worst of dictators, and yet, none of them sent a shiver of fear down my spine as Mummy on the war path. Nobody upset Sherlock, not without Mummy’s wrath raining down on them.

“I assure you that I took his picture to the facility, along with the rest of his belongings.” I still tried to change the subject, derail Mummy’s tirade on me about Sherlock’s treatment. I didn’t particularly fancy telling her the events of the last few months, she and Daddy were currently oblivious to their youngest’s hospital stay, as well as the events that unfolded inside the building.

“Do not try to distract me, Mycroft Holmes, I will have answers, and I will have them _now._ So tell me, why is Sherlock being isolated from everyone he loves, and being treated like a criminal?” Mummy’s tone brooked no arguments. MI5 missed a trick when they overlooked her in their search for interrogators.

“Take a seat, it’s a long story.” I sighed, giving in and explaining everything. From the start of the drug problems, all the way to sectioning my brother, and everything in between. It was a long and hard conversation, peppered with CCTV footage, press pieces, and lists of injuries. I fought the urge to cringe when I watched Mummy’s pale face go red with anger.

“John did _what_ to Sherlock?” Mummy hissed, her glare sent another shiver down my spine.

“He extended his stay in hospital by another week.” I would have brought up the records, but that would have upset them further, and it wasn’t worth that.

“So why didn’t you sort him out immediately?” Daddy asked, I had nearly forgotten he was in the room, he was so quiet.

“In Sherlock’s current state, I thought it best for him to have a doctor in his vicinity. Also, I thought that removing our problem from the situation would make his condition worse, possibly force his delusions to an extreme.” I had considered it, but it was best to remove our _little problem_ while Sherlock was safely tucked away in a facility, where he could be monitored and looked after. Before could have spelled disaster. Sherlock fell off the rails when Mary had died, and that was _Mary._ If he lost John and baby Rosie, with no warning or reasoning, while in a delusional state, it could cause so much trouble. I couldn’t face that trouble, especially while he was free in the world.

“I will be dealing with John soon.” I would not allow this to carry on, I wouldn’t let Sherlock near him again. Once my brother’s problems had calmed down, I would focus on John. Right now, while they were separated, my top priority was Sherlock and his care. The plans were all in place, I just have to implement them at the right time, whenever that may be.

“I should hope so, or I will.” Mummy meant it, I had no doubts about that in the slightest. I was slightly thankful that she knew Culverton Smith was being dealt with, or I doubted he would survive Mummy’s wrath.

“Of course.” I promised, just as my phone rang a familiar number, the hospital, _here we go._ It was 9am in the morning, what could Sherlock have possibly gotten himself into now? Oh what use was it trying to pretend, it was Sherlock, he had the ability to get himself into trouble at any time of day, even when he was asleep.

“Now if you will excuse me, I have important business to attend to.” I managed to get my parents out the room and pick up the phone before the fifth ring.

“What has he done now?” Today was going to be _long,_ and filled with familial trouble, wasn’t it?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all the comments! :D


	29. Chapter 29

28 Sherlock’s POV

“Sherlock, what were you thinking?!” Mycroft asked angrily, as he stormed into the room. Oh, he was in a _mood,_ I’d angered him by sneaking out and hacking into security systems last night. What a _shame._

“That I would actually see my friends, on my terms, and actually be on the lookout for them, in case something happens. Something _you_ haven’t been doing.” I knew he hadn’t, knew that it was likely that Mycroft had left everybody wide open for attack. He probably hadn’t even increased security around Sherrinford.

“I have them all under surveillance, what else do you want from me?” Mycroft glared, this wasn’t just stress caused by me… oh, a visit from our parents, they’d had a meeting already. Mummy did _not_ hang around, and by the looks of it, she had been very forceful. Good. Hopefully that meant I would get some answers soon.

“Answers. I want answers.” And maybe I could take advantage of his stress, get something out of _him._ It would save me waiting for Mummy and Daddy to visit again in two weeks.

“You have all the answers you need, Sherlock. Your friends are safe, Sherrinford is secure, and you are protected. There is nothing else to question, and no need for you to sneak out of your room at night and hack into security systems!” Mycroft growled, oh he _really_ wasn’t happy with me, not one bit.

“There’s _every_ reason to hack and to spy! I have been told _nothing_ by _anybody_ about _anything!_ None of you have bothered to tell me anything but lies since I got here! If you had just _told_ me what’s going on, and allowed me access to the people I want to see, then maybe, just _maybe,_ I wouldn’t have needed to do that!” I would have never roll over and let them drug and placate me in this, but maybe I’d be less likely to act out if I was allowed to at least know what was going on!

I was completely cut off, out of the loop, and unable to protect _anybody_ from the very real danger at hand. My friends, my _family,_ were in danger. Culverton Smith was out there, ready to strike at _any_ second. How could I _possibly_ let that go? How could I possibly lay down and let my incarceration stop me from keeping tabs on those I loved?! I couldn’t! I _had_ to keep tabs, had to watch over them, alert anybody who could help if something went wrong.

And really, I was… I was so lonely. So, so damn lonely. I didn’t… nobody understood here. Nobody _liked_ me here. All I got was placations and lies. I wanted, I wanted my friends, to be treated like a human being. Like I wasn’t out of my mind, imagining conspiracy theories.

I wanted to solve a crime and save the lives of the most important people in my life. I wanted to relax, feel safe, know everyone else was safe. I wanted to hug my Goddaughter. Watch her develop and grow. Be the Godfather she needed.

“Sherlock, I am doing my best to keep you informed-” Mycroft started.

“No you’re not! You’re not doing _anything_ to keep my informed! You’re lying constantly, you’re making the doctors lie to me, and you’re making _Mummy_ lie to me!” Mummy never lied to me, she _always_ told me the truth, she had promised, all those years ago, to _never_ lie to me about anything so important.

“I am keeping you safe!” Mycroft argued, I had to scoff at that, couldn’t help it.

“ _This_ is keeping me safe? _This?_ Locking me up, practically throwing away the key, using my illness as an excuse for all this?” I couldn’t believe it, could not believe he was using _that_ against me.

“It is not an excuse, you are _genuinely_ ill, Sherlock, if only you would look past your conspiracy theories to see that.” Mycroft softened slightly, like _that_ would make me believe him.

“Or maybe, you could tell me the truth, instead of peddling lies. Or at least give me an explanation as to why I can’t see _anyone_ outside of this family.” I stood squarely in front of him, not giving him an inch of space. The guards were tense, ready to take me down, I ignored them, they would not make me backdown from this.

“I am keeping you safe, that is all you need to know.” Mycroft answered, like it was _that_ simple.

“Safe from who? Myself, or Culverton Smith? Because, trust me, I can handle _both._ ” I could handle anything, I didn’t need mollycoddling. The last thing I needed was mollycoddling.

“Yourself, and I suggest you start following the rules, and start getting yourself better, or you won’t be leaving for a _long_ time.” Mycroft warned, never caring, not like he was before. He always _cared_ before. Was gentle with me, even when I was being ‘difficult’ with staff.

“You’re not going to back down, are you? You’re so sure you’re doing the right thing, you can’t even see that it’s just causing more trouble.” It was sad really, seeing Mycroft try so hard, but fail so badly. He may be trying to protect me, but doing it like this was not the way to do it. This would _never_ be the way to do it.

“I used to think that I could trust you, Mummy and Daddy, I really did. At least not to lie to me about my illness. I thought I could _trust you_ to tell me what was real and what wasn’t. Turns out you can’t even stop yourself from stooping this low.” The shot hit, Mycroft’s anger drained away, leaving shame and sadness behind.

“If something happens, I _will_ blame you, _entirely._ ” I turned to leave, seeing now I wasn’t going to get answers, the most I could do was knock him down a peg or two.

I paused momentarily at the door.

“Oh, and don’t bother trying to punish me, or keep me inside my rooms at night. I _will_ find a way out, and I _will_ still get into the system. You may want to keep me from my friends, but I won’t stand for it.”

With that, I left, hoping at the least it would lessen my brother’s resolve, and persuade him to give me some answers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the comments! :D


	30. Chapter 30

29 Sherlock’s POV

Surprisingly, my brother listened to me. Not about giving me answers, oh no, that would be a harder thing to break, but he didn’t order to have security tightened, or anything. I continued in my room, didn’t have extra guards added to my security detail, and wasn’t confined to an isolation room. The only difference to my routine was that a guard stood outside my door as it was locked, and checked in with me every hour during the night.

He never opened the door, only looked through the window to make sure I was still inside. It was a stupid plan, I had a habit of building disguises to be decoys, but it was the best anybody could do, not unless they wanted to unlock my door several times a night and risk my escape again. It was annoying, to feel the presence of a stare several times a night, hear the footsteps echoing off the tiles, but I blocked it out, I had bigger problems.

Mycroft hadn’t come back since our little meeting. And it wasn’t because of a matter of national importance that he was somewhere else. He always had Anthea phone if that was the case. No, this was something different.

We had an argument, I hit him where his heart should have been with the truth of the situation, and now he suddenly wasn’t turning up. It wasn’t like Mycroft to stop turning up without warning, and he certainly wasn’t one to hide away after an argument. He liked to appear above it all, act like sharp words didn’t affect what little feeling he had in that soulless blob he called transport. And while I had used a previous, long standing, promise against him, it wouldn’t stop him from turning up to see me. He _always_ visited, even when I refused to see him, even when I shouted the vilest things at him. He always came, no matter what.

And now he wasn’t here. He hadn’t phoned, or left a message, or sent Mummy and Daddy in his place. He’d just… stopped coming.

Good, I didn’t miss him. Not one bit. He wasn’t needed here. He wasn’t _welcome_ here, not by me anyway. I didn’t care what my doctor said, he may have been my brother, but until he was actually willing to talk to me and tell me the truth, or at least send someone I actually _wanted_ to see over, I didn’t want to have anything to do with him. I would not be lied to, would not have my illness used against me for whatever Mycroft had planned. I was not my brother’s pet or play thing, I would not allow him to toss me around and treat me like I didn’t have any sort of rights. I was a wrongfully imprisoned psychiatric patient, not a bloody criminal.

As I was thinking, I heard my door open. Hmm, must have been morning already. Amazing how much time passed when thinking about the current situation and its possibilities.

“Go away.” I told the intruder, waving them off with a lazy hand. I didn’t care what they had to say, I was busy thinking. I had to figure out my brother’s plans, and an escape route. Time was wasting away in here, Culverton could be planning _anything,_ as well as hiding evidence, getting out of here was key to everything.

“It’s time for your therapy appointment Sherlock.” My doctor was talking, inconvenient.

“Don’t care, busy.” I waved her off again.

“You can’t keep missing therapy sessions, it is not healthy, and definitely not part of the treatment plan.” She continued to stand in my room.

“Oh, there’s a treatment plan, is there? Is it to keep me calm and out of the way of whatever Mycroft is planning, because if it is, you are failing _miserably._ ” Honestly, they called themselves a high security facility, one which housed patients with MI5 backgrounds, and they couldn’t even keep _me_ out of the way? Well, I was notoriously hard to keep down once I got up.

“Sherlock,” she started.

“Therapy can wait, there are so many more important things to deal with.” I really did not care, not in the slightest. I didn’t need therapy, I needed _answers,_ and unless she had any, I didn’t care in the slightest what she had to say to me.

“Nothing is more important than your health, Sherlock, you know that.” My doctor continued.

“Catching serial killers, making sure people don’t die, I’d say that’s a _bit_ more important than my apparent mental health issues.” Really, did she think she could convince me with talk of my _health?_ I didn’t care about my health at the best of times, let alone when the game was on, people I loved were in danger, and there was some sort of conspiracy afoot!

“How about if you tell me about Culverton Smith, why he’s so dangerous, and why you feel the need to protect John and Rosie?” clever idea, it would probably work on a less intelligent person. Sadly for her, she was talking to _me._

“Nice try, but not interested. I’ve already tried to tell you and you have dismissed everything I’ve said, so why should I try again? Isn’t the definition of madness doing something over and over again, expecting a different outcome?” I raised an eyebrow, watching her face twitch with the need to show her frustration. It was immensely satisfying.

“Sherlock, this isn’t a game. You have been brought here to get better and get control of your illness, attempting to run rings around us will not be tolerated.” Oh I _was_ striking a nerve, brilliant! This was the most fun I’d had in _weeks!_

“Oh there’s no _attempt_ about it, I think I’m succeeding quite well.” I smiled, making sure she knew how much I was enjoying myself.

“Fine, we _will_ be talking about this later.” She was going to try and phone my brother, like _that_ would do anything to help the situation.

“Say hi to Mycroft for me!” I called through the door, as it was closed, before lying down on the bed again, going back to thinking, satisfied in my latest attempt at rebellion. It wasn’t anywhere near as satisfying as hacking into security systems, but it was better than nothing. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the comments!


	31. Chapter 31

30 John’s POV

I tried phoning Sherlock’s parents, I tried phoning Mycroft, I tried asking Sherlock’s homeless network, but nobody had any information anywhere about _anything,_ or just weren’t answering their phones. It was _infuriating,_ I was being _completely_ shut out of my best friend’s treatment, with absolutely no idea what was going on. Hell, if I just had a diagnosis, I could start from there, but I didn’t even have that!

Wait… if Sherlock was ill, he’d have medication, and it could have been in the flat somewhere. Maybe, if I had a look around, I could find the pills, and figure out what was wrong…

That was if Sherlock was taking whatever medication he needed, judging by his recent behaviour, he wasn’t taking it, but there’d at least be medication packets somewhere, surely. Right? God, I wished we’d officially signed Sherlock on at the GP surgery, then I’d have access to his medical records and I wouldn’t have to go through all this. But the man had been adamant he wasn’t going on any surgery list, because he had me in the flat, or just a phone call away, so there was no point. I’d argued that there was, but sadly I’d never actually won that argument, so I had no way to access any records. Damn it.

So, after dropping Rosie off with Mrs Hudson, I set about looking through the flat, trying all the obvious places first, hoping for sheer dumb luck to drop the answer in my lap quickly and easily. Sadly, that wasn’t the case, as it never is with Sherlock, so I started going through the less obvious hiding places. Inside the fake book on the bookshelves, underneath all the loose floorboards, the back of cabinets, hell I even checked the tube light in the kitchen. All I got from those places was one pen knife and a seriously gone off experiment I did not want to even _think_ about.

Which meant I had to get creative, which wasn’t my strongest point, when I was trying to out think _Sherlock_ of all people. If he was hiding medication, he’d be able to hide it _anywhere,_ literally _anywhere,_ and no-one would be any the wiser. He’d hidden a lot of things over the years, and while I didn’t understand why he’d hide something like this from me, if he didn’t want me to find it, I was almost certain I wouldn’t.

But I didn’t give up, I turned the whole flat upside down, even checked my old room in the process, and found absolutely _nothing._ Not one pill package, no left-over instructions or foil packages, no prescriptions, _nothing._ That left three options, either Mycroft had gone through the flat with a fine-tooth comb and gotten rid of all clues, Sherlock had hidden it all cleverly away somewhere I couldn’t think of, or he hadn’t been taking his medication in a _long_ time. None of which was of any use to me whatsoever.

“Well, have you thought about what could possibly be symptoms?” Mrs Hudson asked, I barely managed to not make a rude sound at that idea.

“It’s _Sherlock,_ literally anything could be a symptom and we wouldn’t even know!” he hid things so well, pretended things were utterly fine when they weren’t, and more importantly, was so damn _odd_ it was impossible to tell what could possibly be symptoms and what was just Sherlock being Sherlock.

“John, think about it. Compare Sherlock in the weeks leading up to this, to before, when he was well. What changed?” Mrs Hudson continued, giving me a look to say to not argue, just roll with it.

“Bit difficult, considering half of his symptoms could have been drug withdrawal related.” It was entirely possible, Sherlock had been close to _dying,_ thanks to his incredible drug intake, and that wasn’t to mention everything that happened at the hospital.

“Yes, but just _try,_ John. I know you’re frustrated, but if you at least have some theories, you can work from those to get better answers.” Mrs Hudson encouraged, “It’s how Sherlock does it, he looks for clues, makes theories, and follows their paths until he gets the answers he needs.”

“Alright, alright. Well, he was manic, more manic than usual.” I started, thinking back to those last few weeks. The wide eyes, the manic speech, running on a constant nervous energy. “Like he’d gotten the best case of his life, was utterly certain of his certainty, but it was all for a solved case.” It had started slowly. We’d be talking about Culverton Smith, as he’d appear on the news, or in the papers, and Sherlock would speak about him as if he was still on the loose. As if we hadn’t caught him, even as the news would report on the court case.

It had escalated from there, slowly invading and taking over _everything._ In Sherlock’s mind, Culverton was still out there, plotting our demises, waiting for the right time to strike. He was so certain of it, entirely dead set on catching the man, on getting us to believe it. He didn’t remember the arrest, remembered everything else, just not the actual arrest.

“What does that sound like?” Mrs Hudson prompted, bouncing Rosie on her knee absently.

“Fixation, erm,” I wished suddenly that I’d paid more attention in the psychology classes of my degree, “Delusions.”

“Right, what else?” Mrs Hudson asked.

“Paranoia,” lots of that, lots of paranoia over Culverton coming to kill him, or us, “Stopped showering again,” or at least shaving and styling his hair, he’d looked as bad as he did on his drug binge.

“Believed he was the only one capable of stopping Culverton.” Mrs Hudson added, I dismissed it, Sherlock always thought he was incredible and the only person to take down whoever was terrorising us this time, that wasn’t really a symptom.

“Withdrawn? He stayed by himself a lot when you weren’t here.” Mrs Hudson continued, that wasn’t anything new either, not really.

“I don’t think so…” it was just… I wanted to include _everything,_ but so much of Sherlock had still been _Sherlock,_ it was hard to tell anything apart. Something was niggling away at me, wanting me to include the withdrawn behaviour and the grandiose beliefs, but that was still Sherlock. Yes, the beliefs focused entirely on Culverton, and all the texts I got were frantic check-ups on whether Rosie and I were alright, it wasn’t really anything different.

The only solid symptoms we had were paranoia and delusional behaviour.

“So what causes paranoia and delusions in people?” Mrs Hudson asked, and there were so many answers to that I couldn’t even _begin_ to narrow it down. It felt hopeless, to sit here, trying to come up with theories, when we had so little to go on. I needed more, I needed _solid_ evidence, more clues, more ideas, more people to talk to, but who wouldn’t shut me out? Was there anybody left who wouldn’t?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quick notice - I may not update much, or at all, next week. I haven't abandoned the fic at all, I've just got a very, very busy week, involving prep for NaNoWriMo, packing for my first ever Comic Con, and seeing Thor Ragnarok at least twice, on top of everything else I usually do. I'll try my best, but I don't think I'll manage to get much updated. Sorry about that!


	32. Chapter 32

31 Mycroft’s POV

Did John honestly think that Sherlock of all people would leave evidence of medication just _hiding around the flat_ for anyone discover? Or that I wouldn’t go through the flat myself, to make sure everything was gone? Honestly, the man was more stupid than I thought.

But, no matter, what was more important was that he was getting desperate, and therefore would start making irrational decisions. Decisions that could cause trouble for me. Trouble in the form of more shouting matches, more forceful removals from the Diogenes, more of him sticking his nose where it wasn’t wanted, which was the absolute last thing I needed. I was swamped enough as it was trying to look after Sherlock, the man was raging a one man war, and causing all kinds of problems at the facility, trying to keep up with him was impossible.

At least I had given him a puzzle to solve, in the form of my disappearance from visits. If he was stuck on that problem, hopefully he wouldn’t be thinking about John and plans for escape. At least for now he wasn’t, keeping away from my brother was not a permanent solution, not in any way, but it kept him quiet for a few days, so I could get some work done. Or at least some planning.

Now if only John stayed quiet. But alas, he wasn’t, so I had to deal with him again, in the form of him storming into my office in the Diogenes. I would have to get him banned, or hire extra security to keep him out at the least. I wasn’t about to leave, the scandal wasn’t worth thinking about, let alone the idea of not coming back to the little so called safe haven. John wasn’t worth the change.

“John, I can’t say it’s a surprise to see you, did you have fun going through my brother’s things?” I decided to play this cooly, more so than usual. Maybe if I could derail his anger at the situation, to my attitude, I would be able to get through this. If not, well, it was always fun watching security drag John away while he shouted threats.

Oh, who was I trying to convince? This was John, the man was more stubborn than Sherlock, and Sherlock was more stubborn than a bull. Well, than this was for my own amusement, a break from worrying about Sherlock’s health.

“Don’t try to derail me, Mycroft, or try to call any guards, what the _hell_ is going on with Sherlock?” John was not in a gaming mood, too bad, because I was, and I was not fond of the man in front of me one bit.

“He’s receiving treatment for his long-standing illness.” I answered bluntly, leaning back in my chair, nonchalance defined, a sure-fire way to rile anyone up. Probably not my best idea, while John was already angry, but a man had to have some fun when he was dealing with a situation like my own.

“What long standing illness?” John glared, “And do not say drug addiction, because this is not a drug addiction, this is something more. Something that causes delusions and paranoia, and I want to know what that is.”

“It is not something I am at liberty to discuss, it is between Sherlock and his doctor.” That would rankle, as John saw himself as Sherlock’s doctor. He wasn’t in the slightest.

“I _am_ Sherlock’s doctor, as well as his best friend, I have a right to know what’s wrong with him, and the right to speak to him!” John’s voice raised, just as I suspected, it was amusing to watch him start to anger. I took great pleasure in causing people pain when they deserved it.

“The situation is a bit beyond a normal GP, Doctor Watson, you would be of no use to my brother.” I replied, hiding a grin as his hands twisted into fists.

“I would be of use as a friend!” John shouted, “And don’t say I’m not his friend, because _I am,_ I am his friend, and I have the right to see him! Not just me, Mrs Hudson, Molly and Lestrade have the right to see him! _Rosie_ has the right to see her Godfather, why can’t we even talk to him? What could be so bad that we can’t even have a phone call?!”

“Sherlock’s situation is more complex than you would understand, and quite frankly, I don’t wish to try, either. Your presence will make him worse, and put him in danger, which is something I not willing to risk.” I would not have my brother in danger, would not risk him to a man who could not control his temper. My brother was fragile, easily lead, and vulnerable, sending anybody near him while he did not understand his illness was a risk I was not willing to take.

“How?! How the hell will having some _support_ from people who _love_ him do anything but _help?!_ He’s alone and suffering, and whatever is wrong with him won’t get better unless he has some support.” John argued, a good point, but not strong enough to change my mind.

“Sherlock has support from family, and is being well looked after by his doctors, that is all he currently needs. If he ever has a need for friends, I will be sure to call them.” I pressed the button in my desk again, calling in security guards, sending John off for a second time.

But it didn’t stop him, the man kept on coming back, over and over again. He took days off work, came _after_ and _before_ his working hours, brought Rosie with him a few times, the baby looking very confused at her father’s behaviour. I stepped up security, made sure he couldn’t get past the front doors. Yet, he still came. Sat outside and _waited_ for me, scanned the entire area to find another entrance to catch me.

The anger started to morph on his face, his body language. The anger started to cool down to resignation and worry. Real, true worry. It looked as if John was starting to get _very_ worried about Sherlock, and was getting desperate for answers. I had to admit, that was commendable, but I wasn’t going to give in, or give him any sort of answer.

And yet… Sherlock was getting unruly. He hadn’t been to a therapy session in two weeks, was cooking up all kinds of conspiracy theories, and had managed to sneak into the computer room and hack into the security system four times. Sherlock had gotten to the point where he was demanding to see John, throwing tantrums and causing all kinds of havoc around the hospital. He had been sedated twice, put in isolation five times, and caused _six_ incidents with other patients in protest.

Sherlock wanted to see John, John wanted to see Sherlock, and I wanted them both to be kept separate. But, I also wanted peace. I wanted the reign of terror from both sides over, and I wanted to see Sherlock again, in person. I… I missed his company. Even when he was causing trouble, screaming that he hated me. I did miss him. And I had so much work to do, and Sherlock’s tantrums and John’s campaign of failed intimidation was taking over everything else. Countries were counting on me to get things done, and I couldn’t do anything with the two of them being distractions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys, Comic Con was amazing, I'm in complete awe of the place. And I met Andrew Scott and Hayley Atwell as well - ANDREW LIKES MY HAIR AND HAYLEY ATWELL THINKS I'M LOVELY! I'm not remotely okay!


	33. Chapter 33

32 Sherlock’s POV

“Oh please, that’s a clear lie.” I taunted, for the fourth time in this session alone. I was _trying_ to read a book, it wasn’t _my_ fault group therapy sessions were held in the same room I was in. If they had planned the rooms better, this wouldn’t happen. Not unless I deliberately decided to either join in, or sit in the same room at the same time…

“Sherlock, it’s not polite to interrupt someone when they are sharing their thoughts and feelings with the group.” The therapist on hand was exasperated, worn down by her job, and really did not want to be here right now. Perfect target really, that’s why I had picked her group specifically. That and the group wasn’t the most fragile, but quick to panic or anger. Whatever I said would freak them out for a while, but wouldn’t cause lasting damage. Hell, if I continued picking out lies, they may actually get better quicker.

“They’re _lying,_ it’s obvious that they are! Their tale doesn’t add up, and you would know that if you bothered to _listen._ ” I looked at the group with distain briefly, before going back to my book.

“I, I wasn’t lying!” The patient in question stuttered, had problems with authority, or at least perceived authority, usually worked in the field offices, relaying messages. Was actually lying because the incident in question was still classified. The reasons weren’t important, the fact was, they were _lying,_ and if I pushed enough buttons, I could cause a reaction. A reaction that upset the status quo, threw patients and therapists out, and got reported back to Mycroft.

Mycroft, in turn, was forced to deal with the situation, to come down and ‘sort me out,’ or to introduce more measures to keep me under control. But no matter what he did, I wouldn’t stop, wouldn’t _ever_ stop, until I was given what I wanted. Until I was given it, then Mycroft wasn’t going to have a _day_ of rest, or be able to get on with whatever he was supposed to be doing. I would get my friends back, I would keep them safe, and I would make sure that Mycroft paid for his scheming.

“Of course you were. You’re a chronic liar, have been lying since you got here in fact. You  have eight separate tells, each one flashing like a _beacon_ whenever you open your mouth, how in God’s name did you ever get hired at MI6?” I was close, just one more jab, and he’d snap, judging by the other patient’s reactions around him. They were getting angsty, fidgeting nervously in their seats.

Oh wait, they weren’t scared of _him,_ they were scared of _me,_ even more perfect. Big brother couldn’t ignore it when every single patient in the ward was scared of me, and he surely wouldn’t stand for me to be kept in solitary for long. He knew what happened last time, I’d nearly OD’d, and keeping in mind my most recent binge… well, he wouldn’t be risking anything any time soon.

“Sherlock, I suggest you stop right now, before you get yourself into trouble.” The therapist warned, pathetic really. Even _she_ was getting sacred of me. So she should have been, I wasn’t one to be messed with. Mess with me, and I could unleash all kinds of hell.

“I, I, you can’t…” the man stuttered, hands twisting themselves together nervously, just like Molly used to. Only Molly had grown a spine in the last few years, this man apparently hadn’t.

“Of course I can know that, it’s obvious! I can read anything about you, about _all_ of you. I can read your issues with your mother’s neglect, your inability to let go of your first kill in the field, your insecurity over your injury,” I pointed to each person turn, getting closer and closer to the group, all of them scared, before turning back to the patient I was originally talking to, “And you, I can see _everything,_ from your problems with authority, to your lying problem, to the _true_ reason why you’re here. You didn’t just lose one agent, did you? You lost an _entire_ group? How many, three, four? No, _five._ Five agents, because you didn’t pay enough attention to the codes being sent through. You took the wrong turn, and you lost _five_ agents for it. the guilt has been whittling away at you for _weeks_ now, hasn’t it? so much it’s landed you here, in this hell hole, probably never to be hired again, black listed against _every single agency._ They probably won’t even let you look over security at a _supermarket_ now. _”_

the punch wasn’t a surprise, I’d been bracing myself for it, in fact. Still, I fell to the floor, heavy boots pounding in and grabbing us both, hauling us in different directions. Him to the isolation room, me to medical, before an isolation room of my own. I should have been scared of the boredom, of the nothingness, but instead, I laughed. Laughed at all their scared faces, at the anger at my assailant, at everything. it was all so funny, so damn _funny._ All this to see my friends, to keep them safe, to save their lives. Getting myself isolated, so I wouldn’t be isolated anymore. It couldn’t have been more hilarious if I tried.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for the comments and the kudos! And good luck to anybody doing NaNoWriMo!


	34. Chapter 34

33 Sherlock’s POV  
Apparently, all it took to get my brother storming into the hospital again was for a patient to punch me in the face, because it took him only two hours to arrive after the hit, which meant he’d come running. I couldn’t help but smirk to myself as he came storming in, even as it sent a sharp pain across my cheek.   
“Come to argue again, Mycroft? Can’t say I’m surprised, though I thought it would have taken more than a punch to get you off your enormous backside. Was the Diogenes out of cake?” I teased, taking in my brother’s appearance as I did.   
Tired, stressed in fact, had lost sleep over something, whatever it was. Looked like his favourite place had been taken from him, or at least been interrupted somehow. I bet it was John, I hoped it was John. John always knew how to push Mycroft’s buttons.   
“Sherlock, stop playing games and acting like this isn’t serious. What are you thinking, disrupting sessions and angering your fellow patients like this?” Mycroft was not in the mood for games, too bad he was in the middle of one.   
“Simple, you’re making my life hell, and not giving me what I want, so I’m making sure that you don’t get a minute’s peace.” I leant back against the wall, one foot on the bed, the other dangling off the side, appearing as calm as possible. It was some much-needed entertainment, the walls of this cell were so boring, sitting in it for hours on end wasn’t the best use of my time. At least my plan had worked, to the point of getting Mycroft back in the room.  
“That’s what this is about? You’re getting your own back, for some perceived slight against you.” Mycroft sighed, annoyed.  
“It’s not perceived when it’s a real slight.” He couldn’t fool me into thinking that this was anything but a plan, a plan he had everyone in this facility, and our parents, involved in. no-one could convince me that it was anything less than a plan against me.  
“That’s not the point. The point is that this is futile, and showing off is not going to give you what you want.” Mycroft answered, looking down his nose at me.   
“Oh I think it will, judging by how you look right now, you’re at the end of your tether. You haven’t had the chance to relax in a long time, have you? Someone has been bothering you at your little club, haven’t they? Someone wants to see me, as much as I want to see them. Honestly Mycroft, it would just be easier to give in, let us see each other.” For a second, I had the horrible thought that Culverton was pestering Mycroft. But no, he wouldn’t dare it. not after the hospital, he wouldn’t dare go near Mycroft, if he even knew Mycroft existed.   
Also, he was rich, but he wasn’t rich enough for the Diogenes. Only the elite were allowed in, and the poshest of the posh. It was a miracle John got in without me by his side really.   
So it had to be John. Or, or Lestrade. Or someone who needed me for something.   
“There is no-one bothering me.” Mycroft glared, a little too hard, always such an easy tell. Not that many noticed it, too scared to see that it was a tell. But me, I wasn’t scared of my brother, never had been. I had faced worse than Mycroft Holmes. And anyway, what else could he do to me? Lock me up forever? Risk me constantly hounding him? He couldn’t keep me in isolation forever, Mummy would have his head for that.  
“Are you sure about that, brother? I’m sure there is, I can see it so clearly in your eyes, your face, the wrinkles in your suit. You forgot to smooth it over in your rush to get to me, your precious little brother in need. So I’d suggest, if you want to have all this stop, to stop the fights, the disruptions, maybe even the hacking, that you bring John with you the next time you step foot in this institution.” I stood up, walking over, standing inches away from his face, as intimidating as I could be.  
“It would do you well to remember who the smarter, older, and more powerful brother is, little brother.” Mycroft rallied, squaring up to me, too, I refused to back down.   
“And you’re forgetting which brother has actually done field work, which one can make your life hell in every single aspect. Do you want a repeat of 1998, I’m sure nobody here does.” I couldn’t help but grin wickedly, forgetting the pain of injury, knowing that Mycroft would never want another repeat of 1998. Everything had fallen apart the year before, but that year had been one from hell.   
“And I’m sure you don’t want another Sherrinford situation.” Mycroft countered, raising an eyebrow.   
“It won’t need to be, if you just let me see John.” It was that simple, give me one thing, and all this would be over. Well, maybe not all of it, but most of it. he could probably get some work done if he let me see my friend.   
“I somehow do not think John will want to see you in this state, brother mine. You forget that he does not know anything about the past.” Mycroft warned, a stupid thing to reason.   
“There’s nothing for him to find out, because I’m not ill.” There would be no risk, because being ill wasn’t a concern of mine. What concerned me was John, Rosie and our friends’ safety, and if Mycroft had any sort of heart inside his torso, he’d know that.   
“I’m afraid you are, brother mine.” Mycroft looked at me sympathetically, classic manipulation, trying to get me to believe him.  
“I think I would know if I was ill, and I’m not. Now give me what I want, or your life will not be worth living.” I would make sure of it, would make sure every moment was torture, that he wouldn’t get a moment’s rest.   
“That is something I can live with, as long as you are safe.” Mycroft sighed, giving me the most sympathetic look he had ever given, “And, for your own sake, I think it best if you are separated from the general population.” WHAT?!  
With that, the door was opened, Mycroft stepped out. I tried to follow him, but I was shoved away, the door slamming and locking shut as I landed on the padded floor.   
“For what it is worth, I am truly sorry, little brother. But you are becoming a danger to your own safety, and are disturbing all the other patients. Until you decide to calm down, or realise that you are ill, I think it is best to keep you out of the way.” Mycroft looked through the window, turning and walking away.  
“WAIT! No, you can’t do this! You can’t do this! You can’t leave me in here! Mycroft! Mycroft let me out! you can’t do this! MYCROFT!” I cried out, I couldn’t be left in here, I couldn’t be stuck inside this box forever! I couldn’t… he couldn’t do this to me! He couldn’t lock me away forever

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the comments and the kudos!


	35. Chapter 35

35 Sherlock’s POV  
“No, are you insane, John? Of course that’s not right!” I paced my cell endlessly, looking over the crime scene photos, a minor distraction from the larger problem at hand. The only thing I could do to keep the boredom at bay, the only chance I had to keep myself occupied in this data-less, deduction-empty space of hell.   
Well _why don’t you tell me exactly what’s right then, smart ass?_ John’s voice floated through, surfacing from my Mind Palace to talk to me. Wasn’t a hallucination, I had summoned it myself, definitely wasn’t me losing it. and if I was, it was all Mycroft’s bloody fault, leaving me in here like some sort of animal, instead of letting me out.   
“The wounds, they’re, they’re all wrong.” But I couldn’t put my finger on what, though, something, something was wrong with the wounds. They weren’t right somehow, but I couldn’t put my finger on what the problem was.   
_Wow, you’re losing it._   
“Shut up, you would be too if you were stuck in here like a freak!” I couldn’t take this, couldn’t focus, couldn’t do anything! I had to get out of this cell, have some sort of interaction, do something to get my brain working again! Nothing was working, it was all grinding to a halt. I couldn’t, I wasn’t, I had to be able to deduce and work things out. I wasn’t anything without my mind.   
Suddenly, there was a knock on the door, I whirled round to see my therapist sliding through the smallest gap possible, guards on the other side, making sure I couldn’t make a run for it.   
“Good afternoon, Sherlock, how are you today?” she asked kindly, closing the door behind her. The lock clicking sounding like a gun shot.   
“It’s afternoon, good, that’s good to know.” Always good to know what time it was, always good to know how much of your day you had passed thinking. Not that I knew what day it was, or how long I had been in here. Judging by the amount of case files and attempted therapy sessions, it had been five days, but who knows if Mycroft was purposefully messing with time? Making it seem as if more days, or less days, had passed than in reality. Classic torture technique, they used it in Serbia.  
“Would you like to know the exact time?” tempting, but who could tell if it was a lie or not? Time was easily faked, easily changed. It was all so changeable.   
_I’m_ sooooooo _changeable!_   
“No, no, get out my head. You can get out right now.” Not that voice, never that voice. He was dead, though, and locked up securely in my Mind Palace. In the replica of this room. Straight jacketed and chained to the wall. Couldn’t get out of that one, that was certain.   
_I may not be an issue, doesn’t mean that good old Culverton Smith isn’t. little Johnny and Rosie could have met their end while you’re stuck in here._  
“Sherlock, are you okay?” always so concerned, my therapist, so damn concerned, yet completely unable to do what I needed her to do, which was let me out.   
“You’ve kept me locked up in this God forsaken cell for days, what do you think?” I hissed at her, it was all her fault, all her bloody fault. Her and Mycroft. I hated them, I hated them so much. They had no idea what torture it was to be stuck in here, given the most paltry of distractions, when there was such real danger out there. They had no idea.   
“It’s for the-” She started to say.   
“It’s not for the best! It’s torture! It’s torture being kept in this facility, let alone in here!” the scene of so many breakdowns, so many hours crying out for help, so many moments of madness.   
“Are you trying to drive me mad? Are you trying to make me ill again? Is that it? is that what this is about?” why? Why would they do that to me? Why would they purposefully make me ill again? What was the point? And why now, when so much was at stake?  
“Sherlock, we are not trying to make you ill again, or anything like that. I understand that being in here is incredibly tough, and very scary, but it was done with good reason.” My doctor gently pushed me to sit down on the floor, crouching down with me, “We are just trying to keep you, and everybody else, safe. You were being incredibly disruptive to other patients, and causing them to lash out at you, too, which isn’t okay. We are just trying to save you pain.”  
 _LIAR! LAIR! PANTS ON FIRE!_  
 _Definitely lying, without a doubt. She’s a bit crap at it, too. You should probably fire her._   
“Let me out, please. Please, let me out.” I couldn’t be in here, it was so loud at times. Moriarty screamed at me, taunted me, reminded me all the time of the dangers to those I loved.   
And John’s voice, God, John’s voice made me miss him more than words could say. Hearing his voice, I couldn’t… I needed him, and he was so far away. He was so damn far away. I just wanted to see him, I didn’t deserve this treatment over wanting to see a friend.   
“I can’t do that, Sherlock, I’m afraid. Not right now.” She at least looked apologetic. Somehow don’t think she means that look, I’m afraid. She’s faking it, Ella did the same thing during our sessions.   
“I want to see my brother, can I see my brother?” I was, I was allowed out to see him, maybe I’d be allowed out to see him if I asked now.   
“Not right now, Sherlock. Mycroft doesn’t think it’s a good idea, I’m sorry.” She whispered. That was the most pathetic attempt at escape I ever seen in my life.   
_Sorry,_ Sherlock, _looks like we’re all stuck here for a while._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the comments and kudos!  
> Also, anyone know how to copy and past from scrivener to here, without losing the line breaks and the italics? It's all there in the main document, but it seems to be disappearing here!


	36. Chapter 36

36 Mycroft’s POV

Sherlock, to say the least, deteriorated in his isolation room, despite every piece of stimulus I gave him. I had his violin sent in, the most baffling of case files, just about everything else I could think of, and yet none of it seemed to do anything but add to his problems. He was anxious, pacing the floors, banging on the doors, barely sleeping, always on alert for _something._

I tried to justify it, say it was for the best, that it was doing more good than harm, but it wasn’t true. It was making things worse. I knew that the minute he started having conversations with the voices in his head. And I knew it was the voices he was talking to, not the usual litany of words that spilled from his mouth at all times, because he was holding conversations, addressing people who weren’t there. He was _reacting_ to silence, as if someone was talking. Actually _reacting,_ replying, like they were there. It wasn’t him talking to himself, or talking to his little help mate figments in his Mind Palace, this was actual hallucination.

“He has no trouble talking to the voices while others in the room, he seems to think it entirely normal.” Doctor Palmer explained over the phone.

“Of course,” no doubt Sherlock thought he was bringing voices up from his Mind Palace, as he always did when in denial.

“There seem to be two distinct voices he’s hearing, too. One is John, as he continually refers to him as such. The other, I can’t quite place. Sherlock’s a lot more hostile with that one. Shouts at it to shut up. He calms instantly when referring to John, though, have you any idea as to who that could be?” Doctor Palmer asked, I had a very bad, sneaking suspicion, and I prayed it wasn’t.

“My best guess would be Jim Moriarty.” There were many who taunted Sherlock, but none could haunt his mind like Moriarty could, not after everything he put my brother through.

“That would make sense.” Palmer agreed, “I’m sorry to say it, Sir, but I really think that this treatment plan is making Sherlock a lot worse, and isn’t having any sort of good effect on him at all. Separating him may have been good for other patients, but it’s only making him more isolated than absolutely needed. I think that we should maybe consider lifting this ban on John Watson, and Sherlock’s other friends.” I really wished she hadn’t said that.

But I had always known it was coming, couldn’t really avoid it, no matter how long I denied it. Sherlock was _desperate_ for John, his whole psychosis was revolving _around_ John and his wellbeing. He was causing all this trouble so he could see John again. And John was causing trouble for the same reason, even as I thought it, John was outside, waiting for me to exit. The two of them were desperate to see each other, were causing more trouble than it was worth to keep them apart.

But, could I really put them together? Could I really let them see each other? It could risk _everything. C_ ould risk Sherlock’s physical health. Risk his reputation if his diagnosis got out. Risk absolutely _everything_ he had built up over the years. He couldn’t lose it all if John took this badly. Nobody before had seen Sherlock at his worst, at least not without a drug binge to cover up his behaviour. This time, John knew he was clean, _everyone_ knew he had been clean for _weeks,_ so they couldn’t put it all down to withdrawal.

John could take it badly. If Sherlock got too desperate, or hallucinated something dangerous, or anything like that, John could take it incredibly badly. If he tried to control him again, like he did in the hospital… I wouldn’t stand for that. But could I _risk_ it, for my brother’s mental health, before he completely lost touch with reality?

It would take planning, and a lot of safety nets and rules. But I didn’t have a choice. Not if I wanted Sherlock to get better again. I would have to let John see him, let them meet, and risk absolutely everything to do it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fixed the scrivener problem... I think o_O


	37. Chapter 37

37 Sherlock’s POV

_“Your friends are going to_ **_die_ ** _if you don_ _’t get out of here soon! Culverton will kill them all!”_

_“Sherlock it’s going to be okay, everything is going to be okay. You just need to get out.”_

_“They’ll all be dead and you’ll be all alone! They’ll be dead and you’ll be all alone!”_

_“They have to let you out eventually, it’s just cruel to leave someone in an isolation room for too long.”_

_“They’ve locked you up good and tight! No way of getting out now!”_

_“You’ll be allowed out when it’s time to see your brother, or when you get a visitor. That’s when you make your move and run!”_

_“They’ll catch you and drag you back here, you’ll die in here before they ever let you out again!”_

_“Keep the faith, Sherlock, I know it’s hard, but they really cannot leave you here forever.”_

Round and round and round and _round._ Over and over and over and _over_ again. They never stopped, the voices never stopped _talking._ John’s always so encouraging, Moriarty’s so taunting, both warring with each other inside my head, running loose in my Mind Palace. I couldn’t shut it out, couldn’t make it stop, I could hear it all _constantly._

The rattle of Moriarty’s chains, the smell of John’s washing powder, hints of Rosie’s laughter, it all echoed, reverberating around my head until I couldn’t concentrate anymore.

I tried, I really, really tried to concentrate, to focus on the important things, even on the cases I had been given, or just the books, but I couldn’t. it was all so _loud,_ all so distracting constantly. I wanted to _scream._ But no matter how much I begged and pleaded, no matter how much I was drugged, they wouldn’t stop. I couldn’t make them stop, I’d do anything for silence again. I didn’t even want to hear John’s voice anymore, I just wanted _quiet._

“Sherlock? Are you with me?” a worried voice. Female, familiar, definitely not inside my head.

I looked up, seeing my therapist, looking at me like I was about to explode.

_“She’s scared of you!”_

_“She’s just worried about you, Sherlock, you have been in here a while, and refusing therapy sessions.”_

“There we are,” she smiled gently.

“I, I don’t want a therapy session.” I didn’t need one, I needed quiet, I just needed quiet. And _out of here._ I could do anything, as long as I went somewhere quiet.

_“You can’t do anything as long as you’re in this hell hole of a place. You’re about as good in here as you are in a coma, just like-”_

“That’s not why I’m here.” She shook her head, “Mycroft called, he said he wants you back in your normal room, would you like that?”

“My room?” I could go back to my room? Where the walls weren’t padded?

“Yes, your room, would you like to go back?” I nodded, I needed out of here, out of this room!

_“This is our chance, ask to go out! make her take pity on you while you’re looking vulnerable!”_

“Can I see my brother now?” I wanted to see him anyway, but more importantly, I _had_ to get to John, he was in danger. If I could just get to him, he could warn everyone else, and then they’d all be safer, even if I got hauled back in here again. I just had to warn John, he’d tell everyone else, and it would all be slightly better.

_“It will never work! Culverton is too clever! He’ll get everybody you love in his ‘favourite room’ and you won’t be able to do a thing!”_ Moriarty laughed like a mad man, the sound causing a ringing in my ears.

“I’m not so sure about that right now, Sherlock, maybe some other time. Now come on, lets get you back to your room and all freshened up, you have a visitor tomorrow.” A visitor? I had a visitor? Tomorrow?

“Who?” who was coming? “I don’t want to see Mycroft.” I didn’t want to see him, Mummy or Daddy. Just John. And Rosie. And Mrs Hudson, Lestrade and Molly. Only them. Only ever them.

“You’ll see soon enough. Come on, shall I carry your things back?” no!

“No!” she couldn’t touch them, they were _mine!_ She’d move them, change them, replace them with spy cameras or something. No, only I could touch my things. I wouldn’t let them get near my things, I wouldn’t fall for their tricks.

I gathered my things up in my arms, carrying both pictures, the skull and the violin back to my original room.

_“What about the case files?”_

“The orderlies can take those. They come from Mycroft, so they’re probably already bugged.” Not that I could concentrate on them anyway. I still wanted them in my room, though, for entertainment… maybe find the bugs and use them to get out of here, or at least send a message to John. Yes… yes, I would do that. As soon as I got back to my room.

I’d get my message to John, warn him of the imposing danger, nobody could stop me.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry there wasn't an update last Friday, I had a bit of a family emergency on the Thursday which knocked me for six, I completely forgot about updating!


	38. Chapter 38

38 John’s POV

“Are we clear on the rules of your visitation rights?” Mycroft glared, sitting across from me in the car.

“Yes, yes, alright.” We’d been over the ‘rules’ a thousand times already, it was starting to grate on my nerves. What the hell did Mycroft think I would do to Sherlock? Jesus, it was like he thought that Sherlock would die if I visited him.

I did understand, though, in a way. Sherlock was ill, severely ill, and he was an overprotective big brother, of course he was going to be incredibly up tight about it all, until he could see for himself that things would be fine.

“Repeat back the rules.” Mycroft didn’t let up the glare, I wished that the windows weren’t blacked out, so I could at least look at the scenery going past, instead of being stuck with his glare burning holes through my head.

“Mycroft, come on, it’s me, I think I know how to handle Sherlock.” Who the hell did he think I was, really? It was _me,_ it wasn’t like he was throwing Sherlock into the hands of Moriarty himself.

“And I say, I want you to be _crystal clear_ on the rules of your visitation, and what I will do if you do not follow them to the letter.” Mycroft didn’t back down, “If I am not completely and utterly convinced of my brother’s safety, I will have this car turned around, and you will not be allowed anywhere near Sherlock.” He didn’t have to say that any chance for future visitation would also disappear, I got the message.

“Fine,” I sighed, “I’m only to reassure him of all of our continued existence on this planet, to not mention anything about Culverton Smith, apart from to say that he has been handled and is not about to cause any more trouble to anyone. We can talk about the case files you have sent him, but try to derail him if he gets a bit too obsessive over it.”

“And?” Mycroft prompted, dear God, he was _obsessed._

“And I can’t touch him,” still didn’t understand that rule exactly, but I wasn’t about to tell him that, not in his current mood, “Or give him anything. I can’t argue with the orderlies, or mention his treatment, or ask him about his condition. If he does something weird, I will put it out of mind,” unlikely, I wasn’t about to pretend that everything was _fine,_ “And generally encourage Sherlock to be a model patient.”

“Good. And what happens if you don’t follow these rules?” Mycroft’s look still didn’t let up. I’d never seen him look so distrustful of me in all the time I’d known him, hell, he hadn’t even looked at me like this when we’d first met, or after the Fall, when I’d blamed him for everything. I was suddenly quite glad that I’d left Rosie with Mrs Hudson, so she didn’t have to endure such a look.

“I will be immediately removed and will not be allowed back ever again. I get it, Mycroft, I think I can handle a simple visit to a friend.” I wasn’t entirely stupid, I knew how to visit someone, and how to handle an irate Sherlock. Though, if I saw that something was wrong, I wasn’t about to let it go unchecked. I’d heard those screams, the fear in his voice. I wouldn’t let that continue if I could help it.

“Good. Now come along.” The car pulled up, I jumped out, taking in everything at once.

We were in the courtyard of a mansion. That was the only way to describe it. a huge gravel courtyard, surrounded by lush, green fields, leading up to a massive, white mansion. Definitely a stately manor, probably owned by the landed gentry. It didn’t look like some sort of torturous place, or somewhere you would keep a mentally ill person…

Then I noticed the bars on the windows. And the orderlies, all dressed in their black uniforms, following patients, all of which were dressed in white, with different coloured edging to their tshirts. Black, red, or blue, no other colours, no other patterns.

Then I noticed that a lot of the patients were injured. Missing arms and legs, skin badly burnt. Others didn’t have physical injuries, but their issues were so clearly mental, it was practically _screaming_ out of them.

“It’s a military hospital.” Lestrade hadn’t mentioned that, had only said that the place was bloody massive and had the highest security measures possible.

“Less military, more government agents.” Mycroft lead me confidently into the mansion, through so many corridors, all heavily guarded, all carrying eye scanners and electronic locking systems. I was lost in seconds, barely managing to keep up with Mycroft’s long steps, until we reached a room, consisting of a long table, chairs on either side, and a clear partition on the middle. It wasn’t floor to ceiling, only about six inches tall, but the meaning was clear – nothing goes over the line.

It didn’t escape my notice the little ring on the opposite side to ours, perfect for looping hand cuffs through.

“Mycroft, what kind of place is this!?” how could he… this looked like a _prison,_ not a mental health facility.

“One that is safe for people of Sherlock’s intellect and skill set.” Mycroft answered, as the door opened, revealing Sherlock for the first time in _months._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the comments and the theories! I love hearing them!


	39. Chapter 39

39 John’s POV

“Sherlock?” I was… Sherlock was standing in front of me. He was _right there._

And he looked _awful._

So pale he looked like a corpse, dark bags leaving bruises under his eyes, hair disordered and frizzy, stubble on his hollow cheeks. Dressed in the same uniform as the other patients, white tshirt and trousers with black trim, no socks, no shoes. He was… he looked _ill,_ like he was on a drugs binge again, even though I _knew_ he wasn’t, and utterly miserable.

Miserable until he saw me.

“John!” Sherlock lit up, running forward, “You’re alive! You’re alive and you’re here!” the only reason why he didn’t end up climbing over the table in his rush to me was because the guards pulled him back, not that he noticed.

“Why are you here? Has something happened? No, you don’t have any signs of grief, so there’s something else, you’re here for some other reason, but what’s the reason?” it all came out in record time, and for a second, I saw of my Sherlock, the usual, brilliant man I called my best friend, before it disappeared again.

“Mycroft, he is…” Sherlock looked over to Mycroft, the look of pure _fear_ in his eyes unlike anything I’d ever seen on his face. I thought he’d been afraid at the Pool, at Dewer’s Hollow, a hundred other times, but no, _this_ was fear. Fear made him look impossibly young, and so incredibly innocent.

“I decided that giving you and John regular visits may be the only chance you listen to your doctors, Sherlock, and that is why he is here. Nothing terrible has happened to anyone.” Mycroft sighed, pushing me forward, “Sit, the both of you, let’s get this over with.”

Sherlock waited for me to take a seat, then took one himself, his eyes taking in every inch of me, like he was scanning for any signs of anything wrong.

“Rosie spit up on you this morning. You changed your shirt, but missed a bit on your neck.” He concluded, sounding relieved. I wanted to ask why that necessarily meant he had to be relieved, but under Mycroft’s rules, it probably would mean I got dragged out of here.

“Yeah, she decided to spit up, seconds before I left Mrs Hudson’s, I barely had time to change before Mycroft hurried me out.” bastard had barely even given me a chance to say goodbye and make sure everything was okay. But it got me here, so again, I wasn’t about to complain too much.

“They’re both well?” Sherlock asked, hanging on my every word.

“Very, Rosie’s teething, and Mrs Hudson has been lecturing me on all the old wives' tales to help with it. And that’s without going into Lestrade’s war stories of his son, or Molly’s from her niece.” I smiled gently, “They’re actually all going out for a shopping trip today. Rosie’s outgrowing her clothes again, and everyone wants a turn at spoiling her.” That took care of the ‘reassurance of everyone’s continued existence,’ so Mycroft couldn’t hold that against me. It wasn’t completely true, Molly and Mrs Hudson were actually taking Rosie for a day trip to the park, and Lestrade was coming over for takeaway later, to discuss what happened today, but everyone was still probably going to bring Rosie something, as they usually did.

“That, that’s nice.” Sherlock nodded, “And nothing, there’s been no… _disturbances,_ or warning signals, or anything out of the ordinary going on?”

“Nope, everythings ticking over nicely, if a little quietly, without you running around.” I missed him, we all did, but especially me.

I missed the twenty texts a day, the barging into the house at all hours, the anticipation of the next case. I missed how Sherlock doted on Rosie, treating her like she was his own, spoiling her in his own way. And, really, I missed his _company._ The unexpected movie nights, the meals out together, hell I missed just being able to co-exist together. We didn’t even live together, but damn it we had spent so much time together since the Culverton Smith business, I couldn’t help but _miss_ it all, even when Sherlock was clearly half out of his mind.

“I’ll be out as soon as I can convince everyone in this God forsaken place that I am completely sane. But you can help with that, you were there when Culverton tried to kill me, you know how dangerous he is, and that we need to stop him, you can tell them, convince them that I’m not crazy! You were there, you know what we can’t let Culverton remain free.” Sherlock begged, leaning so far forward, he was practically climbing over the table again.

The look on his face. He was _so_ desperate for me to help him, _so_ damn desperate, I couldn’t believe it. He’d been desperate at home, and half crazed, and not making much sense, but _this,_ he was still so fixated. So much more desperate, trying to get close to me as best he could, while guards held him back.

“Sherlock, Culverton has been taken care of. He’s not going to bother us anymore, he’s safely locked away.” I wanted to reach out, take hold of his hand, his arm, _something,_ comfort him somehow. But I couldn’t push it, not on my first visit. I had to build up Mycroft’s trust first.

Sitting here, though, desperate to comfort him but unable to, it was awful. I wanted nothing more than to hold him, to take him home, keep him safe there, away from this oppressive building, where he wasn’t even allowed to reach out to touch me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the comments and kudos!  
> Quick thing, I'm probably going to be updating only once a week for a couple of weeks. My beta reader is moving house, and therefore isn't going to have much time/wifi to edit the chapters I send her. I've got 4 chapters from her to put up, but I'd rather stretch them out over a few weeks, than give them all to you and then leave you high and dry for several weeks. Hope that's okay, it won't be forever, just until she gets moved and back online!


	40. Chapter 40

40 Sherlock’s POV

“No, he’s out there, he wasn’t arrested! He’s still out there, and he’s going to hurt you, unless you keep yourself on the look out for him!” I knew, I was _sure_ of it, “You have to keep yourself safe, keep _everyone_ safe. I can’t while I’m stuck here, but you can keep everyone safe!” John could solve _everything,_ literally everything. He just needed to talk to the doctors, explain that it was all real, that I wasn’t being delusional. They’d listen to John, John was a doctor like them, John knew what was real and what wasn’t. He wasn’t seeing Mary’s ghost anymore, he was dealing with his grief healthily, he would be believed!

_Who said John_ _’s going to vouch for your sanity? Who said anything about John even bothering to help?_

And in the mean time, he could look after everyone, keep them safe from Culverton Smith’s clutches. I trusted John more than anyone else with that, more than I trusted Mycroft with it.

_Who said John could be trusted in the first place?_

I didn’t bother replying to Moriarty’s voice, he didn’t matter. John was here, John would make things better, John always made things better. He could solve all of this, if I could convince him of it.

“Sherlock, please, you have to listen to me, Culverton Smith is in prison, we caught him. None of us are in danger.” John leant forward, he was so close, close enough to touch. I could reach out and touch him if I wasn’t grabbed by the guards first. I wanted to touch him, though, I wanted to reach out, feel the warmth of his skin, know for myself that his heart continued to beat inside his chest, that Culverton hadn’t carved it out during the night.

_Beautiful imagery there Sherly! Sounds like something I would say!_

“We’re safe, Sherlock, I mean it, we are _all_ safe. There’s no need to worry about us.” John sounded sincere, but surely he couldn’t believe that. No, not unless someone had told him otherwise…

“Whatever Mycroft has told you about Culverton, it’s _wrong,_ he’s still out there! We didn’t get him arrested, he hasn’t even gone near a police station, apart from charity events. He’s still out there, lurking in the shadows, ready to strike at any moment!” John had to believe me, he couldn’t sit back and relax right now, it was too important for him to stay vigilant.

_Better get on with convincing him, or he really will die horribly and painfully! Time is running out!_

“Mycroft hasn’t told me anything, Sherlock. I know that Culverton was arrested, because I, _we,_ watched him get arrested. It was right after he attacked you, I barged in, along with the police, they arrested him there.” John reached out, but Mycroft grabbed his wrist, stopping him.

_Ohhhh, interesting! Big brother has something he doesn_ _’t want Johnny-boy to say!_

“No, no that’s not what happened!” that wasn’t what happened at all! John rescued me, but there hadn’t been any police presence, Culverton had run off in the confusion, he hadn’t been arrested!

“Sherlock, calm down.” Mycroft glared warningly, still gripping John’s wrist, stopping him from getting closer. A warning.

_Definitely doesn_ _’t want him to say something. There’s a plan going on here, Sherlock, something he doesn’t want you to find out about._

He couldn’t… why would Mycroft be stopping John from saying something to me? What was he hiding, apart from his plan against me?

But what role would John play in that? Why would he need John to be a part of it?

_To convince you that you_ _’re losing it._

He wouldn’t, though, would he? Mycroft wouldn’t use _John,_ against me, that would be just cruel!

_And yet, here he suddenly is, after months of no contact. Trying to force you into believing something, clearly under Mycroft_ _’s thumb. In fact, sprouting the same things Mycroft is trying to convince you of? What does that tell you?_

“You’re making him lie to me, too.” I whispered, the realisation hitting me hard in the chest.

Mycroft was making John lie to me too. He was getting everyone involved, _forcing_ them to lie to me. He was… he was using my best friend against me now too. Trying to force me to believe a false narrative, that I was delusional, that I was ill again.

I couldn’t… why would he do that to me? Why would he do that? Why was he going to such lengths to lie and manipulate me? I was his brother, after everything we had gone through, why would he do this to me?

_Because he_ _’s Mycroft, what other reason would there be?_

“Sherlock, I assure you, whatever you are thinking, it is _not_ true in the slightest.” Mycroft warned, I didn’t listen. I couldn’t. How could I?

My own brother, using those I loved most in the world, to make me think I was delusional. The _one thing_ he’d sworn to _never_ use against me.

_Looks like you_ _’re on your own from now on!_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the comment and kudos! I think Wednesday will be my weekly update day until my beta reader has finished moving, though this may turn into 'whenever during the week I can manage it' because I'm an unorganised mess.


	41. Chapter 41

41 Mycroft’s POV

Sherlock’s panicked shouts were, to say the least, haunting. And did absolutely nothing to convince John that Sherlock was in the right place.

“Don’t believe him! Don’t work with him! He’s lying! You’re not safe! _You_ _’re not safe!_ ” Sherlock had shouted, over and over, as he was dragged out of the room, fear radiating off him in waves.

Fear that hit John hard, and pushed him over the edge.

“What the _bloody hell_ was that Mycroft?!” he shouted immediately, turning round to give me the hardest glare he had ever given.

“My brother misinterpreted data.” I answered simply, knowing I wasn’t able to give an actual explanation. Even if I could, I wouldn’t. I wasn’t about to tell John anything, not until he was proven trust worthy, and with the express permission of Sherlock.

“That was not misinterpreting data! That was… that was an absolute _meltdown!_ And that’s without talking about his behaviour before he freaked out!” John argued, anger tightening his hands into fists. I wasn’t scared, though, there were guards around. Even if John got a hit in, it would just confirm my suspicions, suspicions that John couldn’t keep his temper under control. If he couldn’t keep it reined in, he wasn’t coming back. Simple as that.

“Yes, well, he isn’t well. Now come along, you have a daughter to get home to.” I turned to leave.

“Like hell we’re leaving! Sherlock is hysterical somewhere in this God forsaken place, we’re not leaving him like that!” John stood his ground, no signs of him wanting to swing his fists yet, but it was early in the argument.

“And the people here are more than qualified to deal with that, he will be fine once he’s calmed down. Now let’s go, there’s nothing we can do now.” I had learnt that years ago, the staff could deal with any meltdown Sherlock dealt them. There was nothing we could do to calm him down, especially when he was in the mood he was in now. We would only make things worse, make things twist further in his mind. He would see the light eventually, he always did.

“How the hell do you know that?! How can you _possibly_ know that they can ‘deal with’ him? He was _screaming,_ and he was _scared,_ how can you leave him like that?! Especially when he thinks that we’re _lying_ to him?” John shouted, the guards started to look slightly scared. Not entirely uncalled for, given the situation.

“Trust me when I say that this is not my first experience of Sherlock’s meltdowns, or his delusional behaviour.” I turned to leave again, got as far as the door, before John interrupted again.

“And that makes it okay?! How is that in any way okay?! Sherlock’s is a human being, he’s your _family,_ and you’re leaving him!” John thankfully followed this time, as I wasn’t about to stop again. I knew he would eventually, distract him with the argument, and lead him out of the building. Once he was out, he wouldn’t get back in, not without me present.

“Surely after all these years, you would know how hospitals work, Doctor Watson.” I deflected, honestly, he had _some_ knowledge of how psychiatry worked. Patients get agitated, you take them away from the thing that was agitating them. This time, it was our visit. While I wished it had gone better, it hadn’t, and that was something we would have to deal with. There was nothing I could do to change that. If there was something I could do, I would do it. But all I had was trust in Doctor Palmer, and that would have to do. Without it, I had nothing.

John argued and argued, the whole way to reception, I managed to continue to deflect his arguments, without giving anything a way. I was a master of it by now. Though, I did wish I could at least lie and say that this was all caused by cocaine usage. Sadly, John knew better. Next time, if this ever happened again, I would make sure that Sherlock was seen to at least be perceived to be back on the sauce again.

“How can you be so heartless? Your brother is _terrified,_ and you don’t even care. You just dumped him with these people, and let him suffer. What kind of brother are you?” John didn’t sound angry at that, just disappointed.

“One who doesn’t want to become the _only_ Holmes brother left.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the comments and kudos! It means a lot to see it, especially when I'm struggling writing!


	42. Chapter 42

42 John’s POV

“The _only_ Holmes brother left?” Greg questioned later on, after I’d gotten home and immediately phoned him. We needed to talk, to discuss what the fuck just happened. And I needed a drink. Greg usually joined me drinking, it felt less pathetic that way.

“That’s what he said.” I nodded, “I mean, there was… back at 221b, while Sherlock was in hospital, it was _implied_ that there was another one.” I had put it to the back of my mind at the time, knowing that more important things were going on at the time. But, could it mean anything?

“Jesus, there’s _three_ of them.” Greg shook his head disbelievingly, “Their poor parents.”

“Yeah, thing is, the way Mycroft said it, and _what_ he said… sounds like the third one isn’t exactly around.” He’d said the ‘only one left,’ and if the other one was around, then he wouldn’t be the last one if he lost Sherlock.

“You think he’s… you know?” Greg waved his hand about, his meaning clear.

“Probably. Though, if that was true, where were the photos in his parents' house? There wasn’t any sign of another brother, there wasn’t even a _mention_ of anyone else.” If there was a third, why wasn’t it mentioned before? Sherlock and Mycroft were secretive, but their parents weren’t. they were incredibly open and kind, had told Mary and I so many stories of Sherlock’s adventures. Wouldn’t there be mention of another brother?

“Weird…” Greg took another drink.

“Definitely.” Either way, it probably wasn’t important. Even if there was another brother, there was no way I’d be able to find them, or get them to tell me what was going on. They were a Holmes, and if he was anything like his brother’s, he’d tell me _nothing._

“Nothing we can really do from that angle, though. Did I mention just how _ill_ Sherlock looked? He looked like a bloody corpse.” I changed the subject onto something more useful, like how Sherlock was right now. Greg had visited Sherlock before, in the hospital, maybe we could do some comparison.

“He always looks like a corpse.” Greg answered, “It’s his thing, looking look a well dressed corpse, or vampire.”

“Yeah, but he was completely washed out, looked almost _grey,_ like all the life had been sapped out of him. He was lively when he saw me,” and scarily frantic towards the end, “but before he saw me, he was… he had no life in him. None whatsoever. The fight was gone. Everything was just… _wrong._ ” I didn’t… how could I even explain how Sherlock had been, how he had _looked?_ He was… it was all wrong, completely and utterly _wrong._

He wasn’t Sherlock in there, he was… completely wrong. No-one should have been allowed to be left to look like that. To look so tortured and vulnerable.

“I know, I’ve seen him in there before, though he wasn’t as frantic as you’ve described with me. Focused on me and my cases, but not saying that I was in danger or anything. Certainly not crawling over tables to get to me.” Greg sighed, “There was a sign of desperation, but it wasn’t like you described.”

“Yeah, it’s… it’s hard to watch.” I could scarcely believe that that had been _Sherlock,_ after everything we had been through, I hadn’t ever imagined seeing him look like _that._

“Wasn’t very pleasant whenever I saw him, either. He always looked… _small._ Do you know what I mean? Like a kid.” Greg fiddled awkwardly with his bottle.

“He did. I couldn’t… he looked desperate for reassurance.” And so young. So, so damn _young._ I’d barely been able to deal with it. I mean, when we first met I thought he looked young, but I’d learnt that that had just been _him._ But in that place, he looked… he looked so vulnerable. Wide eyed and scared.

“He never wanted reassurance from me. Always cases, distractions, things like that.” Greg replied, I couldn’t tell if he sounded disappointed or what. He and Sherlock had always been close, in their own way, sort of like a father and son. I could understand that feeling, I guess.

“He didn’t want cases or anything from me. He just wanted to know that we were all safe, and that we knew the danger of Culverton Smith.” In fact, he hadn’t said _anything_ about cases.

“Weird.” Greg sighed, I nodded to that, not sure what else to say about it. not sure what else to say about _any_ of it.

The whole visit had been confusing, and worrying. I knew nothing more than I did going on, still had no idea on how to stop Sherlock’s bad treatment, or even what he had been diagnosed with.

All I knew, was that he wasn’t well, and he wasn’t getting any better in that hospital. And he had to get out somehow, in any way possible.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soooo sorry I didn't update on Wednesday! Time got away with me entirely!


	43. Chapter 43

43 Sherlock’s POV

“Sherlock, slow down, what are you doing?” doctor whats-her-name managed to get hold of my arm, stopping me from running from one side of my room to the other.

“It’s TD12, it has to be TD12. That’s why John thinks that Culverton Smith isn’t a problem. Smith, or Mycroft, they drugged him, told him that Smith was arrested for his crimes. He believes it, because of TD12’s memory changing properties. All they had to do was drug him, and suggest the new reality, and John would be helpless to fight it. He believes Smith is out of the way, because he has false memories, created by TD12.” It made so much sense, how had I not seen it before? I was an idiot, a blind idiot!

_You_ _’re getting slow in your old age Sherly!_

I pulled out of her grip, rushing over to the wall, where I had already pinned several pieces of evidence. Well, more scribbled dates, to create a visual timeline. It was good to have timelines. Timelines made sense, made it easier to explain to stupid people in the vicinity.

_Sherlock, behave. Not everyone has the same level of intelligence as you._

“That’s not my problem.” I couldn’t make everyone smarter, but I could explain the solution to them, and get them to understand it.

“How can you be sure of that, exactly?” my doctor asked, not trying to stop me this time.

“Because John truly believed what he was saying, I could see it on his face! And Mycroft made him stop talking, so I couldn’t get him to understand the truth! John wouldn’t lie to me, not about something like this, not at a _time_ like this. He believes in his truth, and someone, either Mycroft or Culverton Smith, is making him belief in that truth, not in the real one. I just need to find out why, and then I can fix everything!” I just needed the _why,_ and then everything would be fine! I just needed the _why,_ once I had the why, I could do everything else!

“Sherlock, slow down a minute, when do you even propose that the supposed drugging happened?” she asked as I pulled her into my room, dragging her over to my timeline.

“Easy, while I was still in hospital, while I was sleeping, or having tests run, or, or at some time then! I wasn’t there when it happened, that much is clear. There is a chance that John was drugged at home, while I was at Baker Street, too, but there would have been evidence of that, and John would have been alerted to a break in, he’s always been so vigilant. While in a hospital, he lets his guard down, especially when already run down, thanks to everything that had happened in the previous days. He would have trusted a doctor, and wouldn’t have thought anything odd about one walking into the room, carrying syringes. It would have taken just _minutes_ to inject him, make him forget, and replace his memory. And none of us would have been any the wiser until I recovered and went back to trying to catch Smith.” I explained, couldn’t she see it? She had to be able to see it, it was so simple, so _easy_ to do, anybody could do it.

_So easy, **anybody** could do it, to **anyone else.** Anyone else, including **you.**_

No. I would know. I would _know,_ if I was being drugged like that. Everything was perfectly clear in my mind, everything added up, my days weren’t anything to hide from. There was no need to hide anything from me. Not actual events that happened in here.

If they were drugging me, surely they’d try to drug me into submission, into thinking that there was nothing wrong. They’d make me feel like nothing was wrong with this whole situation. They didn’t.

No, I wasn’t being drugged… _yet._

_Any day now, that_ _’s for certain if you carry on like you are._

_Be careful, Sherlock, things can go south very quickly in these situations. Go slowly, and carefully._

“Sherlock, don’t you think that this may be a bit too far fetched?” the doctor asked, looking at me worriedly. _She_ _’ll drug you soon. Make you forget all about all of this, now that you’ve put TD12 into her head. It’s not like she couldn’t get hold of any, after all…_

“No. No, I don’t. I don’t believe it’s insane, or anything. It makes sense.” I was sure of it, and I wouldn’t let them tell me otherwise. I wouldn’t tread carefully, or act like this was at all okay, because it wasn’t.

I didn’t care if they tried to drug me, I’d remember, I’d _always_ remember. I’d remember, and I would get John to remember too. I could do it, I was Sherlock Holmes, and a drug wasn’t going to change that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the comments and kudos! I should hopefully be back to updating three times a week soon!


	44. Chapter 44

44 Mycroft’s POV

The day after a meeting with hospital staff over my brother’s security, Anthea came into my office, holding a file. The folder itself was not brown, black, or beige, the usual colours pertaining to governmental issues. This one was pale green. Meaning Sherlock. I was expecting some sort of problem arising after that fateful meeting with John.

“Sherlock is currently refusing to take any sort of medication.” Anthea summarised, “It seems that he is fixating on TD12, and its memory changing properties. His currently theory is that John has been drugged by either you or Culverton Smith, and his memory of Culverton escaping was changed, to a memory of Culverton being arrested. Sherlock is refusing medication in fear of having his own memories changed.”

“I see.” I took the folder from her, assessing the details inside quickly, when really, all I wanted to do was groan in annoyance.

Another conspiracy idea? _Another one?_ On top of all the others?

Though, I suppose it made sense. Sherlock’s memories did not match up to those around him, and he was convinced that I was falsely incarcerating him, TD12 would of course be a useful tool in keeping someone like Sherlock in line. Sherlock’s mind would obviously make the connections between the two, and of course, would refuse medication, to save his so called intact mind.

If I were honest, I had forgotten about TD12, it had proved useful in the past, when certain people needed to forget certain details. But it had been a long time since I had had anything to do with it. The mention of the chemical in the Culverton Smith report had been nothing more than a blip.

Though, if I remembered it before, there was nothing I could do to stop Sherlock remembering about it. If I mentioned it, it would fuel his thoughts, and I could hardly tell the doctors at the facility to not mention it, as they didn’t really know about it anyway.

Either way, I now had to think a way out of this one. How could I possibly get Sherlock to stop theorising? Telling the truth was doing absolutely nothing to help him, showing him proof of the real events his delusions focused on wouldn’t do anything either. Anything from me, or anyone for that matter, would be distrusted, treated as if it was all part of the conspiracy against him. That every piece of news footage, newspaper article, and police report was faked. I had tried it before, done my best to make him see sense, but it was always dismissed.

I couldn’t give him the truth, it was dismissed so easily, but it seemed the conspiracies were getting out of control. And if Sherlock went too long without any sort of anti-anxiety, or sleeping aid, while already delusional, he was going to make things a whole lot worse for himself.

“What shall we do, Sir?” Anthea asked, looking worried. She did care for Sherlock, in her own way. She had worked for me for so long, she couldn’t really help but learn to care for him. Especially as she knew the reasons behind all of this, had been there during some of the worst times. She had seen Sherlock at his worst, scared and alone, completely out of his mind, she couldn’t help but care for him after that.

“I can’t believe I’m saying this, but let him stay off the medications. But, but keep him safe in his room, or at least constantly supervised, just in case.” I couldn’t trust Sherlock to take the pill versions of his medication, he always liked to dodge it whenever possible. And I didn’t want to use force with him, not unless it was completely unavoidable. He needed to see that his psychiatrist and the surrounding orderlies were to be trusted, to not consistently associate them with potentially traumatic force.

“Are you sure, Sir? Couldn’t that cause more trouble?” Anthea asked.

“What else would you have me do?” she knew better than to question me, especially when it came to Sherlock’s treatment. There were very few options when it came to dealing with his illness, and, if I were honest, we _needed_ to stop the cycle of disbelief. We needed him to see the light of his illness, to see that he was genuinely ill, so we could actually start treating him properly.

It was a risk, but maybe, just maybe, if we let him spiral, in a safe environment, he’d finally manage to see the light. It had worked in the past, maybe, hopefully it would work here.

Hopefully, he would wake up, see what was truly going on. See that he was ill, and start taking his medication, be a reasonably well behaved psychiatric patient, so we could all move on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is probably my last update before Christmas, I may update again on Friday, because it's the holiday's, I'm not sure yet. If I don't, happy holidays everyone!


	45. Chapter 45

45 Sherlock’s POV

The TD12, it all made sense. John wasn’t a traitor, he _couldn_ _’t_ be a traitor to me. He was my best friend, he understood me more than anybody else did, he cared for me. I was sure of it, he _cared_ for me, he wouldn’t dare lie to me like this. John didn’t lie to me about things like this. Only I lied during cases, and that was for dramatic purposes, not for something like _this._

Someone had dosed him with TD12, and made him believe that Culverton had gone to prison, wasn’t running free. There was no other explanation. And it _fit._ It was clear to see that it _fit._ It would have been so easy to hook him up and change his memories. Could have been done while I was being examined, or having tests run. We were in Culverton’s hospital, after all, who knew who was on his less-than-legal payroll? Or he could have done it himself! There were corridors hidden _everywhere,_ Culverton could have gotten to John at _any time!_

John wasn’t a traitor, I knew it! I knew he wasn’t a traitor to me! He had just been dosed, that was all! Now I just had to make him see that, and get him to remember what _really_ happened. It would be difficult, but I could do it, I could figure it all out.

The problem would be how to keep Culverton away from him in the mean time. I had warned him of the danger, but it was another thing if he actually believed me, and if he kept his guard up. John was a very guarded person, but he let his guard down sometimes, everyone did, it was part of the human condition.

But would Culverton bother to dose him again? Or would he try to kill him? That would be the question, did Culverton want to torture me more, making me look completely _insane,_ so my testimony against him would account for nothing, or would he prefer to keep me in here, _and_ kill John?

He could do both, get rid of John, get rid of my only hope of someone testifying to my sanity. And get rid of my best friend. Make Rosie an orphan. Make sure that I _knew_ that it was my fault that he was dead, because I wasn’t there to protect him. It would the purest form of torture, make sure I never left this place. If there was one thing that would actually cause me to fall off the wagon, it would be losing John.

“Sherlock, I think you’re over thinking things a bit. You don’t know that Culverton knows your diagnosis.” John pointed out, sitting on my bed.

“Of course he does, he’d have researched me. And now that I’m here, he’d _have_ to know, if he’s keeping tabs on me.” And of course he would be, I nearly exposed him as a serial killer, he’d have to get rid of me in any way possible. And while dead was preferable, so he could personally send me to his _favourite room,_ there was no way in hell he wouldn’t research me, find other ways to get rid of me. He could torture me for _years,_ pick off everyone I loved, make sure that I was entirely discredited, my mind entirely gone, before he killed me. Because he would kill me, eventually, I knew he would. But that didn’t matter, my death didn’t matter, everyone else's _did._

“But I didn’t know, and I have your medical records, looked through them multiple times at the hospital in fact, how would he find out if I couldn’t?” John asked, twiddling with his pen, where he was writing notes. My notes were better, more precise, but he did so like to keep some records.

“Because you saw the redacted version Mycroft likes to give out. He makes sure that there’s a doctor he can trust in any hospital I end up in, to give me the right medication to keep my symptoms at bay. It doesn’t go on the records, and nobody else has to find out, simple.” I explained, “As for Culverton, I’m sure he has his ways. He’s a well connected man, I’m sure he could find it out easily enough, by greasing the right palms.”

“Then how come I didn’t find out about it, when I was alive? I know everything about you Sherly, and even I didn’t find out _that_ bit of information. If I had, I would have done more than sent you a puzzle and watch you dance. I would have torn your brain out, piece by piece, send you _so_ mad you wouldn’t even be able to tell if you were _alive._ ” Moriarty’s eyes sparked dangerously, I ignored him. He was still chained up in my Mind Palace, still in his straight jacket. He just happened to be a bit more corporeal today. Just like John. It had to be done, I had no-one else to talk to otherwise, and John was _so_ useful to talk things through with. Moriarty, well, he was good to use for playing devil's advocate, seeing things through the mind of psychopathic murderer.

“Mycroft told you a lot, but he wouldn’t _dare_ tell you that. He may be using it against me now, but only in front of those in the know. He makes sure that secret is heavily redacted, takes back everything once someone is done with them, and nobody starts blabbing.” I answered, honestly, we had set this up _years_ ago. Nobody could find out just how my brain worked, not without huge amounts of effort, looking into pieces of my past that officially never happened.

“But then how will Culverton find out?” John looked confused, just as my door opened, revealing my so called doctor.

“What do you want?” I glared at her, I was in the middle of something, talking to her was not on my list of things to do.

“I came to see how you were doing, it’s been a few days without any sort of medication, and it’s important to keep track of how you’re feeling.” She came into the room, standing by my desk, clearly looking over the things I was working on.

“Despite the feeling of _constant_ annoyance, thanks to my confinement and your constant dithering, I am absolutely _fine._ Now stop spying on me and leave, unless you have something important to say, and by important, I mean the news that I am _free to leave this place._ ” And I knew that _that_ wasn’t happening any time soon. Not with Mycroft around, scheming away.

“Well, you are free to leave your room, Sherlock, especially for therapy session and meals. In fact, it’s highly encouraged. It’s been three days since your last meal.” She sounded worried, probably had my older brother breathing down her back.

“I don’t eat while I am working, and I am very clearly working, so I won’t be needing food. And therapy is entirely a waste of mine and everyone else’s time. I think I’ll stay in here instead,” I flashed a close mouthed smile, “Goodbye, doctor. Do try not to come back until this farce is over.” I turned back to my work, desperate to figure it all out, to get out of here, reverse the effects of TD12, get to the truth of the matter and _keep everyone safe._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry I didn't get anything up on Friday, time ran away from me! I hope everyone had a happy Christmas, or at least a happy couple of days!


	46. Chapter 46

46 Sherlock’s POV

“Sherlock, it’s been _days,_ you need to rest.” John told me, his hand was so warm on my shoulder, it almost… it almost felt _real._ It wasn’t, and I knew it wasn’t, _so I wasn_ _’t ill,_ but it did feel like it was. It was all my Mind Palace, though, projecting John, so I had someone to bounce off, so I wasn’t alone.

“I will rest when I have found a definitive way to prove that John was given TD12.” I wouldn’t stop, wouldn’t _dare_ stop, not until I had answers, definitive proof that nobody could deny. So they couldn’t say that I was delusional, creating theories out of nothing. I wasn’t delusional, it all made sense, it was the perfect explanation to all of this. I _knew_ that this wasn’t just me, it couldn’t be, I wasn’t delusional, not this time.

“Of _course_ you’re delusional, look at you! You’re talking to yourself in a room in a _psychiatric ward!_ ” Moriarty shouted from his corner.

“But you can’t do that from here, it’s impossible. Besides which, even if you weren’t in here, how would you prove anything?” John asked, “You can’t do a blood test, or anything like that, it’s been too long since the potential exposure. How could you possibly prove that John has been drugged with TD12?”

“I don’t know, but I will find the answers. I always do, it’s my job to find the answers to impossible crimes. If I can take down Moriarty, I can prove that John was drugged with TD12, and that either Mycroft or Culverton Smith is behind it.” I could, I could figure out the hardest puzzles out there, this wasn’t any different!

“You didn’t take me down, I _killed_ myself, that doesn’t count as _taking me down._ ” Moriarty laughed, chains rattling. The laughter echoed loudly around my room, bouncing off the walls, the sound feeling like a drill into my brain.

“I took down your empire singlehandedly, so I think you’ll find that I _did_ take you down.” I hissed at him, the laughter got impossibly louder. My head _pounded_ with the noise, my vision was wavering.

“Sherlock, your blood sugar is getting low, and you’re sleep deprived. Carry on like this, and you’ll end up in the hospital wing.” John worried, steadying me as I swayed on my feet.

“I’m fine.” I forcibly stood by myself, reminding myself that he _wasn_ _’t real,_ that I had brought him out of the Mind Palace to assist me, while I couldn’t trust the real John.

He felt so _real,_ though. Like he was genuinely stood in front of me. But he wasn’t, it was fake, made by my mind. Not due to illness, because I wasn’t ill, as I was trying to prove. I had made him, willingly, I had made him, brought him into this world. I wasn’t ill, _I wasn_ _’t ill._ I had a headache, my legs were shaky, but I was fine, _I really was fine._ It was all fine, completely fine. I wasn’t ill, I really _wasn_ _’t ill._

“Are you sure about that? You look _weak,_ and _pathetic._ ” Moriarty smirked, like he had just had an idea, “You know what happens if you pass out? They take you to the hospital wing, and they give you _drugs._ Drugs like TD12, how much do you want to forget, Sherlock? Do you think you would even notice? Or would they take away everything, make you believe that you are ill, and deserve to be here? Keep the dose up for long enough and they could convince you of anything.”

“Shut up.” it wouldn’t happen, I wasn’t going to pass out, wasn’t about to do _any_ of that. Even if I did, I would know if they were giving me TD12, I’d _know._ I was too intelligent to be fooled so easily.

“I wouldn’t say that, Sherly. You have been fooled before.” Moriarty sing-songed, “You could forget _everything,_ John,”

“Shut up.” I wouldn’t forget, I wouldn’t forget, _I would not forget John._

“Lestrade.”

“I’m warning you, _stop talking._ ” I refused to stumble, refused to fall. I was stronger than this, I wouldn’t succumb, I would _never_ succumb to bodily needs, not when I needed to protect the lives of those I cared about.

“Breathe, Sherlock, he’s not real. You can ignore him, you have to ignore him.”

“Redbeard.” Moriarty continued, gleeful glint in his eyes.

“Sherlock, you need to sit down and calm down, _right now._ ” John warned me, his hands urging me towards the bed.

“ _Sherrinford._ _”_ Moriarty cackled.

“I said, SHUT UP!” I threw my pen at him, watching it go straight through his head, his brain exploding out the back of his skull.

“Don’t forget me, Sherlock! You promised you would never forget me!” a new voice, one I hadn’t heard in years, not since… not since the _incident._

“You’re failing him, Sherlock! You’re going to forget him, forget them all, and _never_ get out of this place! They’ll all die because of you!” the laughter rang out, ricocheting off everything, including John’s worried voice, the new voice, Moriarty’s taunts, everything coalescing in a cacophony of noise.

“Don’t forget me, Sherlock!”

“Sherlock, you need to breathe, you need to calm down and _breathe._ ”

“You will never see anyone you love again!”

“Let’s play pirates, Sherlock!”

“They’ll all die and it’ll be your fault!”

“Sherlock, the orderlies will be coming in a minute, they’ll take you to the hospital wing unless you calm down.”

“Redbeard’s gone, but you still have me, Sherlock. I’ll never go away.”

“Don’t pass out, I mean it, do not pass out. You have to appear normal to the orderlies, or they’ll give medication and make you forget us all.”

“John’s going to die! Mrs Hudson is going to die! Lestrade is going to die! Rosie is going to die!”

“Please, Sherlock, don’t let them do this, don’t put us all in danger, don’t let my daughter die.”

“I’ll take care of you, Sherlock, I’ll always take care of you.”

My legs buckled, my hands clamping around my ears, desperate to block out the sound, to block out _everything._

The only thing that blocked it all out was my screams.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy new year everyone!


	47. Chapter 47

47 Mycroft’s POV

“Report?” I held my hand out expectantly, not slowing my pace as I headed towards the hospital wing. I couldn’t hear screaming yet, always a good sign. Hopefully Sherlock had managed to calm down.

Calm down? There wasn’t a chance of that. Sherlock was not prone to calming down when in a psychotic episode, especially when the voices started. As the voices got louder, his behaviour spiralled. Sadly, the only way to calm him down was with a heavy dose of sleeping medication. It wasn’t recommended, but there wasn’t really any other option, and if it meant it got him under control long enough to administer his usual medication, then it was worth it.

“Sherlock started screaming at 3.34pm, after five medication free days, he exhibited signs of auditory hallucinations. Judging by his arguments with these voices, they were taunting him. It is currently not clear who he was hearing, if there was anyone specific, previous experience leads us to believe that he is hearing specific people.” Doctor Palmer explained, leading me down to Sherlock’s hospital room.

The room was exactly as it always was, featuring only a bed, an IV drip, and locked cabinets. An orderly was standing in the corner, watching over my little brother. Said little brother was lying on top of the bed, restraints wrapped around his wrists and ankles, IV drip in his arm. He was so still, breathing shallowly, not even twitching.

He looked just like Sher…

No. I cut the thought off before it could form. Thinking about that would not help the situation in any way at all. I needed to be clear headed, thinking clearly about the situation at hand. And that situation involved getting Sherlock back on his medication, and making sure he _stayed_ on the damn stuff. I would have suggested keeping him strapped in until the antipsychotics took effect, but Sherlock was an expert in getting out of restraints. If he didn’t want to be in them, he got out of them, sometimes did it so slowly that the orderlies didn’t even notice, and generally didn’t notice until the second before they were knocked out.

“We would have started his medication immediately, but we wanted to run things past you first.” Doctor Palmer looked at Sherlock with no small amount of pity. No, not pity. _Concern._ She was concerned about my brother, more than most doctors. Though, that was why she had been chosen. She cared so much, and worked herself hard to give her patients the best treatments, all while listening to the families' wishes. Or at least, she listened to me, because I held a large stake in the hospital, and made sure it was well funded and well-staffed. Always best to listen to those types of people, especially when their little brothers were involved.

“Of course. I appreciate the inclusion.” Always best practice to make sure that certain gestures were appreciated.

“What do you suggest we do Mr Holmes? We cannot let Sherlock continue like this, he’s getting worse by the day, becoming more and more paranoid, while the delusion devolves. I’m worried that soon the auditory hallucinations will become visual, and if he starts down that route, I’m worried for his safety, as well as the safety of the other patients.” Doctor Palmer crossed her arms, looking down at the hospital bed.

Had my brother always looked so vulnerable asleep? Had he always looked so _young?_ Less than his actual forty years? Or was I just remembering seeing him in a hospital bed, a tiny seventeen year old, scared and alone in the world, even when surrounded by his whole family.

_“I can still hear his voice, Mycroft. He’s right there, but I can still hear his voice. Why can I hear his voice, Mycroft? He’s not moving, why can I hear him?”_

I shook myself from the memory, forcing myself to concentrate on the here and now. I couldn’t focus on how vulnerable Sherlock looked, or anything other than how to make him better. He was unwell, he had to get _better._ This could not continue the way it was. He was my brother, I had sworn to protect him, I was going to make him better.

“I will talk to him when he wakes. He cannot deny his symptoms at this point, he will listen to reason. Have his full medication prepared and ready.” I could get him to see reason, I knew it. The voices were too loud to ignore, Sherlock had _screamed_ in fear. He could not deny his illness now. If he did, then he was clearly much further gone than I anticipated.

Either way, I would make him see. He was desperate enough, scared enough, he would understand. Denial was impossible, all the symptoms were there, it time was stop them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guess which idiot has to rewrite part of her latest chapter, because she managed to write the exact same conversation twice in a row by accident? That's right, ME! I think I need to get some sleep!


	48. Chapter 48

48 Sherlock’s POV

“You swore you wouldn’t forget me! They’re going to make you forget me!”

“It’s okay, Sherlock, it’s okay, just breathe for me, alright? Just breathe, and everything will be okay.”

“They’re all outside, Sherlock, all of them, armed with syringes, they’ll fill you with so much TD12 you won’t know what to do with yourself!”

“Don’t close your eyes, Sherlock, you have to keep watch. That’s it, keep your eyes open, so you can see them coming.”

“You forgot about the stars, Sherlock! Don’t forget about me, too!”

“You won’t see them coming, you’ll never see them coming! They’ll take away everything and you won’t even know it!”

My head _pounded,_ my eyes watered, the whole world spun as the voices did not stop. They were everywhere, attacking from all sides, speaking even when their physical counterparts weren’t.

“Stop it, stop it, please!” I couldn’t stand to hear it anymore, couldn’t take the pain of it. It was all too loud, all too _much._ I couldn’t deal with it all, wanted to shove all the voices back into their boxes in my Mind Palace, get rid of their physical counterparts, too. I couldn’t concentrate, couldn’t hear anything but their voices, the _laughter._ Moriarty’s colliding with Culverton Smith’s, mixing together in an explosion of evil laughter.

Not even John’s kind words were enough to help, not even, not even _he_ was enough. I couldn’t breathe, the air was too thin, taken up with all the voices.

“They’re taking the air out of the room! They’re going to kill us all!”

“It’s a panic attack, Sherlock, nothing more. You’ve had panic attacks before, haven’t you? It’s all okay, everything is _okay._ This is going to pass soon enough, and you’ll soon be able to breathe again.”

“Sherlock, you don’t look so good, are you sick?”

“Shhhh, Sherlock, shhhh, try to breathe, concentrate on your breaths. Just keep focusing on that.”

“Sherlock, can you hear me?” new voice, familiar voice, _unwanted voice._

“Go away.” I moaned, unable to take another voice. Not Mycroft, not now, not _ever._

“Don’t trust him, Sherlock, he’s evil! He’s going to take away all our chocolate! He lied about Redbeard!”

“Sherlock, I’m going to touch your left hand, and take it away from your ear.” Hand, warm, against my left one, bringing it down gently, holding on after the action was completed, “It’s Mycroft, Sherlock. I think it is about time that we had a talk about what’s going on.”

“Go away!” I shoved at him, pushing myself further against the wall, “I won’t forget! I refuse to forget!”

“I won’t make you forget, Sherlock, I promise you that. Just look at me, can you do that? That is all I’m asking of you right now.” Mycroft sounded gentle, not over controlling, or like he was angry with me.

“Don’t listen to him, Sherlock, I don’t trust him, not one bit.”

“I understand that you don’t trust me. But all I am asking, is that we talk, alone, for a few minutes, that’s all. If you look at me, you will see for yourself that I am alone, and unarmed.” Mycroft sounded so kind, like he did before, when we were young.

“That’s his bad news voice, don’t trust it, Sherlock.”

“He’s going to lie to you! He’s armed, and he’s going to make _everything disappear forever._ ”

“Just look at me, Sherlock. See the truth for yourself.” Slowly, I followed the sound of Mycroft’s voice, turning to see him sitting on the floor, two feet away from me. His hands were up, palms open wide, showing me that he didn’t have anything in his hands. His jacket was missing, his shirt sleeves rolled up, and there were no lumps or bumps in the lines of his trousers. He wasn’t armed with syringes, or pills, he was safe. Physically, he was safe. Verbally, I couldn’t trust a thing he said.

“You, you’re a liar, I won’t believe anything you say!” I wouldn’t, I wouldn’t fall for it! He’d lied before, he’d made me believe that Sherrinford-

“I understand that I have hurt you, and given you a lot of reasons to mistrust me, brother mine. But, I fear that at this moment, you really are very ill, and have been for a long time.” Mycroft sighed, “I know you are hearing the voices again, are probably seeing them, too, and they’re not coming from your Mind Palace.”

“Yes they are!” they were, they were all coming from there! It wasn’t me, it wasn’t me!

“No, they’re not, Sherlock. If they were from your Mind Palace, why would they hurt you? Why would they try and scare you?” Mycroft continued, despite Moriarty’s laughter, “Your Mind Palace doesn’t try to hurt you, does it? It’s your safe place, why would it taunt you if you were in control?”

“I, It does that sometimes!” when I was stressed, or alone, it did that sometimes! It wasn’t my illness, it wasn’t my illness!

“It doesn’t Sherlock, think back, has your Mind Palace ever made you this scared before? What voices have scared you before? What has made you scream, and write obsessively? What has made you see things that weren’t there?” Mycroft asked, no! No, no, no!

“I’m not ill! It’s not that!” it couldn’t be that! How could it be that?! I wasn’t ill! I really wasn’t ill!

“Sherlock, please, think about it. Have I _ever_ lied to you about your mental health? Ever since your diagnosis, what have I done, besides help in any way I can?” Mycroft looked at me with a pitying expression, “I haven’t done anything but try to help, honestly, this is _not_ your Mind Palace. This is not _you._ And I think, deep down, you know that you aren’t well, that you haven’t been well for a very long time.”

“I am well, I really am well.” I sobbed desperately, I couldn’t be ill, I wasn’t ill. I couldn’t be! It was all me, all my actions, I _wanted_ the voices and the presences, I brought them here, not my illness.

“Sherlock, you’re not just seeing John, are you? You’re seeing others, hearing others, others you don’t want to see or hear.” Mycroft couldn’t know, he couldn’t know who was whispering, who was laughing!

“Moriarty provides a different view point! It helps me think!” I defended myself, I brought him out, he was useful! He was useful to my thought process!

“I wasn’t talking about Moriarty. You’re seeing him, aren’t you? He’s here.” Mycroft couldn’t know, he couldn’t know!

“You never bring him out of your Mind Palace, Sherlock, in case anyone hears you and finds out. You locked him away, forced yourself to never speak to him, to never hear his voice. But you’re seeing him now, and hearing him. What does that tell you?” Mycroft wasn’t triumphant, or pitiful. Just sorry. Very, very sorry.

“I can’t be ill again, I’m right, I know I’m right!” I had to be, I couldn’t be wrong about this, I knew what I saw, knew that the connections I had made were real. I never, I never got crimes wrong.

“You were right, Sherlock, you were completely right about Culverton Smith, but he was arrested. He confessed to everything, he’s currently on trial for his crimes, his victims still being uncovered. I can give you all the newspapers, all the news reports, even the police files if you wish. But he is definitely a serial killer, and he’s been caught. Your friends are safe, we are _all_ safe, and always have been. No-one needs protecting from a serial killer wanting revenge.” Mycroft reached out to hold my arm reassuringly, “I understand that it is hard to understand, but it is true. I haven’t lied about anything, neither has John, or Doctor Palmer. And TD12 has not been anywhere near anyone you care about, and won’t go anywhere near you either. Do you believe me?”

“Don’t believe him, he lies, he’s Mycroft!”

“Mycroft is such a twat. He’d lie to anybody, just so he doesn’t have to get off his fat arse and do something useful for once.”

“Big brother telling the truth? Don’t make me laugh!”

“I, I don’t want to be ill again.” I whispered, I couldn’t, I didn’t want to be ill again. I had been well for so long, I had been doing _so_ well.

“Nobody asks to be unwell, Sherlock. But it is the card you have been given, and sadly, you have been handed some very bad cards in recent years, it was inevitable that you would end up off the rails again.” Mycroft sighed sadly.

“But I watch for symptoms, I keep an eye on myself, it doesn’t slip my notice when I get ill!” I noticed things, I _always_ noticed these things.

“Not this time! You were stupid and slow this time!”

“Don’t beat yourself up, Sherlock, everyone makes mistakes sometimes.”

“Not this time, brother mine.” Mycroft replied.

“I just wanted to feel less alone.” I had been so alone, I stopped taking the pills, just so I could hear someone for a little while. I hadn’t meant to let it spiral, hadn’t meant to let it get this far. I’d just wanted to hear a kind voice, before I lost it all, I had wanted to hear a kind voice.

“I know, I understand. It is not entirely your fault, I should have stepped in sooner, or at least kept a closer eye on you, to make sure that you didn’t go this far down the rabbit hole. But, what’s done, is done, and we can’t change things now. All we can do is work together to make things better, and I think it’s time for you to get better.” Mycroft held out the medication I was supposed to be taking. The medication I had left in its package for the last eighteen months.

“It’s TD12, don’t be an idiot!”

“Go on, take it, forget everything. Forget every single thing that means anything to you. Forget entirely who you are.”

“Don’t believe him, Sherlock! He’s Mycroft! Listen to me! Listen to your _brother,_ it’s TD12, you’ll forget me if you take it!”

“Take it, go on, forget, TAKE IT!”

“I can’t.” I couldn’t, I couldn’t go through all this again.

“You can, I know you can. You have every bit of support you need, and more, you can recover again.” Mycroft insisted, but the voices, they wouldn’t stop whispering, telling me that it was evil, that it was TD12. I knew, deep down, it wasn’t, but I couldn’t help but feel like it _was._ That if I took it, I would forget everything, that I would never be the same again.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the comments and the kudos! We're getting towards the moment of truth for Sherlock's illness, what do you guys reckon he has?


	49. Chapter 49

49 John’s POV

“Right, so he’s dead certain that we’re all in danger, and Culverton Smith is behind it.” I nodded as Lestrade listed each point off on his fingers, “He’s entirely focused on it, and doesn’t want to talk about anything else, which could be _something,_ but at the same time, is just how Sherlock is. Mycroft thinks that this is serious enough that we can’t talk to him, and he has to be put in a psychiatric facility with a huge amount of security.” He continued, listing everything we knew about the situation.

I had hoped that seeing Sherlock again would give me some more ideas, or at least a better idea as to why he was so ill, but it wasn’t helping, not really. So many of Sherlock’s actions could be a reaction to his current situation, or his usual behaviour.

“Alright, let’s start from the beginning. Forget about the drugs, forget Sherlock’s usual behaviour, let’s list his symptoms, and see what we get from that.” I _had_ to figure this out, had to get to the bottom of this. I couldn’t let Sherlock continue on like this, especially not after seeing him.

He’d been so desperate for human contact, so desperate to make sure I was safe. He was _always_ trying to make sure that I was safe, I had to return the favour, had to make sure that he was in a safe place, healthy and happy. Not looking half way dead, or like he had had all the energy sapped from his body.

“Alright, so we have paranoia, withdrawal from everyone apart from his drug dealer, mania, intense focus on one subject. Could you call this whole ‘Culverton is trying to kill us all’ thing a conspiracy? Or would you call that delusional behaviour?” Lestrade listed again.

“Bit of both, surely.” Molly spoke up for the first time in a while, from where she entertained Rosie as we figured things out, “Some conspiracy theories can come from delusional thinking, which can be caused by a lot of mental health problems, which isn’t always drug induced.”

“Good point.” I had sort of dismissed Sherlock’s conspiracy about Culverton, because he had a) been right, and b) completely off his head on drugs. But it could have been a symptom, it was entirely possible that Sherlock had started creating conspiracy theories on his own, and the drugs hadn’t helped. Even if he had been right, he had been completely taken over by the conspiracy theory, even when there had been no evidence whatsoever.

“Now Sherlock’s never been a social person, basically shunned the human race for years until you came along, but he completely cut himself off this time. He didn’t want to see any of us.” Lestrade chewed on his lip thoughtfully.

“He even kicked me out of the flat several times, and rather rudely, too. I was going to give him a firm talking to, but I thought he was grieving, and left him alone.” Mrs Hudson came in, carrying tea for us all.

“Or he was thinking about Mary’s message.” He had started this whole thing, supposedly, because Mary had told him to in her DVD.

“Both possible. But for the moment, let’s count it as a symptom.” I was probably barking entirely up the wrong tree, but it felt good to have a list of symptoms. Things we could put on and take off the list, correlate together, find different diagnosis's with those symptoms, find what fit together and what didn’t. It was better than just _sitting_ here, thinking about his innocent little face, wide eyes begging for reassurance and love. The man in trouble, not being listened to at all, being mistreated by those who were supposed to be helping him.

As it was, a little theory was growing in my head, this was a serious list of symptoms, and they were pointing to one diagnosis I didn’t like the sound of one bit.

But it couldn’t be right, could it? No way it could be right, I mean, it was _Sherlock._

“On top of that, we have mania, but intense focus. Mania can be caused by so many different conditions, we’d be here all day naming them.” I ran a hand through my hair, but knowing full well it wasn’t bipolar.

Well, it _could_ have been, but this would have been the most extreme case I had ever seen, and there was still that other diagnosis in my head, which made a lot more sense.

“Intense focus, though, that could be just Sherlock. He always fixates on cases, you yourself always used to complain about trying to get him to do things like eat and sleep during a case.” Molly waved Rosie’s elephant toy, my daughter’s arms waving in front of her as she tried to grab it.

“Yeah, but this was different. This was like nothing else mattered, like the world would end if Culverton wasn’t caught right that second.” Molly hadn’t seen him, not in that last week, I’d taken over looking after him completely. I’d been worried about him, more than usual, and I felt like I was the only one who’d be able to keep him in the house when it came to it, so I’d sent everyone home.

“In the past, he was the exact same way in rehab.” Lestrade agreed, “It was more than latching onto something interesting, it was bordering on psychotic if I’m honest.”

“But he’s always been a bit eccentric, and prone to emotional outbursts.” Mrs Hudson argued softly.

“Emotional outbursts is stabbing the mantel piece, this is something more than that.” I replied, looking over the mantel itself. The place where we had found Mary’s DVD, where everything Sherlock was troubled by was kept.

Wait a minute…

Going over, I looked through the pile of letters, hoping that there’d be something, _anything_ at all, that would lead me to some sort of revelation. Everything that annoyed Sherlock went here, and maybe, just _maybe,_ he’d have something here, that he’d put here, that could tell me what was wrong with him.

“Ah-ha!” I found a prescription, not given by the doctors at the hospital. And the prescription contents confirmed my worries.

“Holy shit.” I had to ring Mycroft, _right now._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ohhh we're nearing the moment of truth now!


	50. Chapter 50

50 Mycroft’s POV

Despite Sherlock’s realisation, he refused to take his medication, in fact, wouldn’t let any of the doctors near him. It was a wonder that I was allowed near him, and that was probably only because he knew I was unarmed, and completely without medication.

Well, he didn’t know about the pills stashed in my pocket. Unwrapped, and undetectable in my back pocket, ready to be used if the worst happened. I may not look like I was physically capable of pinning Sherlock to the floor, but I had been trained just as well as he had. And, I was heavier, and running on a solid six hours sleep, so I had the advantage.

“I understand that you’re scared that it’s secretly TD12, but I can assure you that it isn’t.” I tried, knowing it was useless, but really, what else could I do?

Anyway, it got him _talking,_ gave me, and the doctors, a better idea of exactly who he was seeing, and what they were telling him. Getting him to talk about his delusions was one good way to find out exactly who was talking to him.

“It is! It is TD12! I can feel it!” Sherlock whined, clutching his head in clear pain. Just how loud were the voices today? That was the question, they must have been screaming near constantly for him to actually show pain.

“Sherlock, listen to me, it is _not_ TD12. It is your medication, the same medication you have been on for years. It is not going to wipe your memories, or do anything but quieten the voices in your head, and help you think clearly.” I pulled his hands away, forcing him to look at me.

“Liar! You’re lying! You’re always lying to me!” Sherlock argued weakly, “Stop, stop, please _stop._ ” He begged uselessly, tears welling in his eyes as he looked behind my shoulder.

“Look at me, Sherlock, whatever you are seeing, it isn’t real. I _am_ real, and I am telling you, you _need_ your medication. You’re starting to spiral, and you know that doesn’t end well.” I had to keep calm, had to make him _see._ But he was so scared, so weak, he needed reassurance, he needed to feel _safe._ I couldn’t make him feel safe, I wasn’t _safe_ for him anymore, hadn’t been in such a long time. And I couldn’t bring the people he trusted in, as they didn’t know of Sherlock’s diagnosis, or were unavailable for an entirely different reason, one that even I couldn’t get round, even after years of trying.

“You lie, you lied to me. I can’t trust you, I can’t ever trust you.” Sherlock whimpered, whole body shivering.

“Sherlock, listen to me. I swear, on _Sherrinford,_ that I am not lying to you. I am telling you the complete truth when I say that you need your medication, and you need it _right now,_ before you get any worse.” I never swore on Sherrinford, but there was nothing else I could do. How else could I convince him? I couldn’t exactly get him to a lab right now, not in this state!

“LIAR!” Sherlock shouted, “You lie! You’re always lying!”

“Then what can I do to prove to you that I’m telling the truth? What can I do, tell me, I will do _anything,_ just tell me what you need to believe me.” I’d do it, absolutely _anything,_ if it stopped this. If it stopped the pain, stopped the voices, stopped the delusions. I’d do anything to get my brother back. I couldn’t lose another brother, not to this, not to _anything._

“John! Get John!” Sherlock begged, “He can help me test the pills, and confirm if it’s my medication or not. He’ll know. And he won’t give me anything other than what I need.”

“Sherlock, John doesn’t know about your condition.” And even if he did, I was drawing a hard line at bringing John into this situation. Not after the last time he was around my brother when he lost control. I would not let him get near him, not again, not like that. _Never_ like that.

“I don’t care! Get him here right now!” Sherlock growled, fire in his eyes. He wasn’t going to back down, this was going to be his only option to prove anything to him. He wasn’t going to listen to anyone but John.

“I don’t think that is a good idea.” I advised, he could have Mummy or Daddy, he could have Doctor Palmer, Anthea, anybody like that. Not John though, not his personal circle of friends, the ones in the dark in this.

“Get him, or I swear to God, Mycroft, your life will not be worth living.” Sherlock argued, “Get him, and get us both to a lab, _right now._ ”

“Fine, just fine. but I’m bringing security, and _you_ are going to deal with the consequences of him knowing your diagnosis.” I stood, just as my phone rang.

“Speak of the Devil.” I read the name of the caller, heading towards the door as I answered.

“Sherlock’s schizophrenic, isn’t he?”

Damn.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So was anyone right? I'd love to know if anyone guessed it!


	51. Chapter 51

51 Sherlock’s POV

_“Who is he talking to? It can’t be good, he’s taking too long!”_

_“Could be John, giving him more orders against you.”_

_“Or he’s sending for an express order of TD12!”_

_“He can’t be sending for TD12, not when he’s going to let you analyse the meds!”_

My head _pounded_ with the nonstop chatter, each of the voices reverberating so much it was making the walls vibrate.

_“These walls are made of solid brick, they can’t move.”_

_“I think we need to get you to the lab, and soon.”_

“Shut up, please shut up.” I begged, it was _so_ loud, so damn loud I couldn’t take a second more of it. I was desperate for silence, desperate to be able to think straight, to only hear actual, real people.

“A car will pick you up in ten minutes, I will brief you when you reach your destination.” Mycroft’s speech was real, it didn’t make anything shake, didn’t echo, didn’t do anything but sound _normal._

“Sherlock, if you come with me, I will take you to the nearest lab. John is going to meet us there, and he will help you analyse your medication, do you accept that as a plan?” Mycroft asked, bending down to my level again.

I nodded weakly, stumbling as I stood, refusing Mycroft’s steadying hand on my side.

“Don’t touch me. I don’t need help.” I didn’t want to be touched by him, not by _anyone._ It made my skin crawl, physically _hurt_ to be touched right now.

_“There’s nothing under your skin Sherlock, and he can’t really hurt you if he touches you.”_

_“He could have TD12 hidden somewhere! One touch and you could forget everything!”_

_“Mycroft is too crafty, he could be up to something. Keep him in your eye line, Sherlock.”_

“As you wish, brother mine.” Mycroft sighed, but let me walk unaided. Guards surrounded us, patients and doctors eyes following us through every single corridor, whispered theories spreading like wild fire between the patients.

“Is he being moved somewhere else?”

_“Keep walking, Sherlock. Just keep walking, deep breaths, ignore it all.”_

“I hear he’s going to an even more secure facility than this one, because he’s completely lost it.”

“No, he’s getting ECT.”

_“Ohhh, now_ **_that_ ** _would be fun, Sherlock Holmes, risking his brain to get Electric Shock Therapy! Imagine the scandal, imagine the **horror,** of Sherlock Holmes losing his previous intellect!_ _”_

“He’d never get ECT, he’s _Sherlock Holmes,_ Holmes’ would never do anything to risk their brains.”

“Never! I was here when he was first diagnosed, after the other one's fa-”

_“It was an accident! I didn’t know what I was doing!”_

“Ignore them, brother. They are not worth your attention.” Mycroft waved a hand, the patients were pulled away by doctors and orderlies quickly, just in time for us to reach the reception, the front gates.

_“Run! Run right now! Quick, they won’t expect you to run!”_

_“You can outrun them, Sherlock, we’re the fastest boys in our year!”_

Too many guards, and anyway, I had to get on top of this. I wasn’t well, I knew I wasn’t well. I was hearing too much, _seeing_ too much, caught _far_ too much in the largest conspiracy I had ever created.

And, I was going to see John. If Mycroft really did keep to his word, and if he didn’t he would _regret_ it, I was going to see John. He was going to come to the lab, I’d see him, _I_ _’d see him._ All I cared about was seeing John, I _had_ to see him. I couldn’t run away now, not when he was coming to me. When I could physically reach out and touch him, be _with_ him for a while.

_“He’ll find out your diagnosis.”_

If he hadn’t already figured out, then I would be surprised. He was a doctor, and wasn’t a _complete_ idiot. I was prepared for it, prepared for him to change his mind about me, for him to become wary of me being around him, let alone Rosie. I could cope. I could show him that I wasn’t like the stereotype, that the stereotype was wrong. He’d learn that I wasn’t completely insane, that I could function, that I wasn’t a danger to him, or anybody else.

_“He’ll hate you, be scared of you. He’ll_ **_never_ ** _look at you the same way again._ _”_

_“Who trusts an insane detective? Who honestly trusts someone like you? John may be a doctor, but he’ll have seen enough patients to know that you’re completely insane!”_

I gritted my teeth, refusing to listen to a word. I _knew_ John, I knew him better than anyone, he would understand eventually. I could prove myself to be the same man I was always had been to him. I just needed to be given the chance, I could prove _everything._

But first, I needed to be medicated, and for that, I needed to get to the lab.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Everyone got it right, congrats guys, glad I did my job properly xD


	52. Chapter 52

52 John’s POV

“Look after Rosie, I’ll be back later.” I raced out the door, not letting anybody call me back. I had to go, Sherlock needed me, I had to go right this second. I didn’t have a clue why he needed me, or what had happened, I just knew that I was needed, and that Sherlock was _schizophrenic._

Schizophrenia, I had had suspicions, given the list of symptoms, but I hadn’t though that he’d actually be… I mean, I’d never seen him hallucinate before this, or show any other signs. I hadn’t even seen a pill packet, let alone seen symptoms, or seen his medical history mention that. It mentioned everything else, just not this.

How couldn’t he tell me? I was his doctor, his best friend. Surely he’d tell me…

Oh who was I kidding, Sherlock told everybody precisely nothing about himself, it took weeks to wheedle anything out of him about anything he loved, or memories, or experiences unrelated to cases. Why would he ever tell me about _this?_ He didn’t even tell me when he was injured, unless it was life threatening or getting in the way of the cases.

No time to think about that, we could talk about that later, right now, I had to get in the car and prepare myself for whatever Sherlock would throw at me when I saw him. So, as the car pulled up, I jumped in, finding Anthea seated diagonally to me.

“How bad is it?” I needed to know that at least, I needed to know just how bad the situation I was walking into was, so I could be prepared for whatever Sherlock needed.

“Sherlock has not slept in four days, hasn’t eaten in the same amount of time. He’s questioning his delusions, but needs to know that what he’s seeing is real. You are going to reassure him that he’s taking the right medication, and that he is not being given TD12, which is his current worry.” Anthea explained, not looking up from her phone.

“Alright, alright, I can do that.” I could definitely do that, I could reassure him and calm him down, make sure he’s taking his medication. I could do that, and then we could talk, I mean, after he had slept, and gotten some food into him. Then we could talk, and sort all this out. We could sort out everything, now that I knew his diagnosis, I could help, I was sure of it, I could help.

“Let’s hope so. We want to make things better, not worse.” Anthea’s eyes stayed level with her phone, “The elder Mr Holmes has told me to tell you that he is only letting you into this because he has to, and not because he trusts you. You are being involved because Sherlock trusts you for some ridiculous reason, and if Mr Holmes had his way, you wouldn’t be let anywhere near Sherlock while he’s in this state. So if you put one toe wrong, he will not hesitate in making your life such a living hell, that you will wish you were dead, or not even born for that matter. You _will_ remain calm, and not decide that losing your temper with your _mentally ill,_ so called _best friend,_ is the best idea to control the situation. If you don’t, Mr Holmes will have you forcibly removed, and has no qualms about causing you a _lot_ of pain in retribution.”

“Of course I’ll remain calm! What the hell makes you think I won’t?” honestly, what was _with_ everyone around Sherlock, thinking that I was going to hurt him?

“The incident at the hospital says you won’t.” Anthea finally looked at me, sending me an ice cold glare, one that suited Mycroft more than her. I’d never seen her look so cruel in my life.

“The hospital? You mean with Culverton Smith? I’ve already apologised for that, and promised to never do it again! I had just lost my wife, I wasn’t thinking clearly. And anyway, Sherlock was out of control, I had to stop him!” I was doing better, I’d promised to not do it again, was working on becoming a better person, what else could I do?!

“Mr Holmes will see about that, we will _all_ see about that.” Anthea didn’t look like she believed me, and completely blanked me for the rest of the journey.

Arriving, I found we hadn’t travelled to the hospital Sherlock was being kept in. Instead we were in front of a normal looking office block. It looked completely and utterly normal… what was Sherlock doing here?

“Follow me.” Anthea leaned down to an eye scanner, just like the one at the hospital, the doors buzzing before letting us both through.

The inside of the building was a surprise, to say the least. Outside it looked old, like it hadn’t been cared for much, like most office blocks across the country. Inside it was pristine, white, and absolutely _filled_ with security measures. Eye scanners, finger print scanners, cameras covering every inch, guards on every door, demanding to see Anthea’s ID, and an explanation as to who I was. The whole place felt like something out of a James Bond film, like, like, well, _Baskerville._

Not good, not good at all.

“Just what is this place?” I asked as we walked.

“Top secret, and none of your concern. Your only concern is helping Sherlock test his medication in the lab.” Anthea answered, sounding annoyed that I had even asked. I shut up, deciding to not push it with her.

The corridors wound for what felt like miles, until we eventually made it to a dead end. There was only one door at the end. Anthea scanned her eye again, the door opening soundlessly.

“Where is he?! Mycroft you swore he would be here! What did you do to him?!” Sherlock’s voice came through, sounding beyond agitated, edging towards hysteria, if I were honest.

“Soon, brother mine, have patience. It takes a while to get from London.” Mycroft didn’t sound all too calm, either. More tired.

“It takes precisely forty two minutes and thirty five seconds to get from London to here, then a further eight minutes and fifty seconds to get through the security. It’s been nearly an hour!” Sherlock argued… that was good though, right? He was still argumentative, and throwing his intellect around, so that had to be a good sign, right?

It had to be a good sign, didn’t it?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I saw Black Panther yesterday and it was AMAZING! Go and see it as soon as you can!


	53. Chapter 53

53 Sherlock's POV

_He's not coming, he's not coming, it's a trap! It's all a trap!_

_Mycroft's lying, he's lying so much, he never tells the truth!_

_Oh no, has Sherly been tricked by big brother? Has big brother Myckie not kept his word again? You walked into a trap, without even noticing it was happening._

"SHUT UP!" the room was _spinning_ obsessively, the whole world feeling like it was on some fair ground ride. I barely kept my feet under me, barely kept standing where I was. John was coming, I had to believe it, John was coming, he'd be here soon. Mycroft wouldn't lie, not about this, he wouldn't lie.

_He's Mycroft! He lies all the time!_

_He lied to you about me for months! He lied about Redbeard! Of course he'd lie about John!_

"Sir, he's arrived." Anthea opened the door, and John stepped through.

"John!" I raced over to him, yanking him away from my brother's assistant and into the safety of the corner, frantically checking him over for puncture marks.

"How did you get here? Was there any parts missing from your journey? Do you feel tired, or suggestible? What did Anthea say to you? Did anybody else talk to you _at all_ recently?" I questioned, satisfied that there were no signs of an injection point on John's skin. Couldn't be too careful though, labs could come up with anything, anything at all.

_Baskerville had the H.O.U.N.D. project, and made rabbits glow, what else could they be doing?_

_An aerosol version of TD12 would be easy to make, or he could have been injected weeks ago, anything is possible._

_Ask him more! Question him more! Make sure he's real Sherlock, you have to make sure he's real!_

"Whoa, slow down a bit, one question at a time!" John tried to pull his arm out of my hand, I didn't let him, I clung on tight, keeping him close, keeping him safe. Couldn't let him out of my sight, couldn't let him go, there was evil everywhere, we couldn't trust anyone, not here, not anywhere. We were surrounded by the enemy, they could have _anything_ planned.

_What do we do when surrounded by the enemy? We fight to the death to save our selves!_

"There's no time! Just answer the questions, answer them _now!_ " I needed to know, needed to stop the room spinning, needing to make sure that he was safe and real and my John. Not my Mind Palace John, not my hallucination John, he had to be real John. Real, solid, conductor of light John. Not company, not traitor, definitely not traitor, he wasn't a traitor. Not my John, my John was kind and caring and loving and he took care of me because he was my friend and I had to be seeing my real John because I wasn't _that_ far gone. My Mind Palace John was just behind me, he didn't look like this, he didn't have clothes with stains from Rosie's lunch on them, he didn't look as tired, or as harried as this John. Mind Palace John had his shorter hair cut, too, this John had the right length of hair, considering time away and his current style, while messier than usual, thanks to rush over here and the day spent with Rosie. Where was Rosie, was Rosie safe? Did Rosie come too?

_Nobody brings a baby to a bloody laboratory, Sherlock! Are you insane?!_

_Of course he is, look at him! He's completely lost his mind!_

_Hey, stop talking like that about my brother, you creep!_

"Please, just answer the damn questions." It was so loud, I needed quiet, I needed to get to the bottom of this and make things go back to normal. Please, just make things normal, I needed normal, _please._

"I was driven here by one of Mycroft's cars, nothing feels different to usual, there are no blank spots in the journey, it was all incredibly linear and normal, all things considered. Anthea told me nothing at all, further than the fact that we were coming to a lab to test your medication for TD12, and apart from that, the only people I've spoken to in person today are you, Rosie, Mrs Hudson, Lestrade and Molly. The only person I've spoken on the phone to is Mycroft, and you were there on Mycroft's side to know that nothing happened there." John explained, holding onto my arms, like he was supporting me. He was so _warm,_ and solid, and so resolutely like my John, my solid, stable John.

But could he be? Could he really be my John?

"And, I am real Sherlock, I know it's hard to believe, but I am. I'm going to help you test your medication, and I'm going to help you, alright? You're going to have to trust me on that, please, trust me when I say that _I am real._ " John squeezed my arms, so solid, so different from my hallucination/Mind Palace version, so many details I didn't usually bother with.

I had two options, believe him, or consider the fact that I was further gone than ever before.

_You're further gone, Sherlock! You've been off medication for too long! You're not going to be able to climb out of this hole!_

_It's not him, Sherlock, you know it's not. We're the real ones, we're the ones who've been with you the whole time._

_Of course I'm real, Sherlock! Look at me, over here, behind you! I'm the real one!_

"I, I trust you." I had to trust the one in front of me, trust my observations, and _pray_ that this wasn't all in my mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the comments and the kudos! :D


	54. Chapter 54

54 Mycroft’s POV

I hated to admit it, but once John showed up, he was actually rather nice to Sherlock, given the circumstances. He didn’t question Sherlock’s manic questioning, or his obsessive checking for needle puncture marks. He didn’t get angry when Sherlock shouted at him, or ignored his questions. He was stressed, and clearly bursting with the need to make a huge fuss over my brother, and ask a tonne of questions himself, but he kept them in. John actually took my brother's needs in consideration, and actually bothered to help him, for once.

The two worked seamlessly together, Sherlock going through everything obsessively, John handing him whatever he asked for, double checking everything Sherlock did, to make sure it was done right and that Sherlock’s eyes were not deceiving him. Thankfully, Sherlock's chemistry knowledge was still very much intact and he wasn’t experiencing ‘word salad,’ or seeing different chemical reactions or results in each of his tests. In that respect, he was still seeing what he should be seeing.

Though, it was clear to me that he was seeing his little ‘guests’ inside his head, and they were making their presence known.

Sherlock’s eyes darted every few seconds to different parts of the room, three specific locations, over and over, never in the same order, like he was watching whoever he was hearing speak. He wasn’t replying to what they were saying, but judging by the way he winced and clenched his jaw, the voices were getting louder and louder, probably desperately trying to make sure he didn’t take his medication. To make him believe he was really testing TD12, and that no matter what the result of the tests he was running, he would still be taking TD12. That Culverton Smith really was out to kill everyone he loved. That this was all just a lie.

“Sherlock, hey, look at me a minute.” John apparently noticed, too, gently reaching out to touch Sherlock’s hand, making him leap feet, “Sorry, just, I know it’s hard, but don’t listen to them, okay? Don’t listen to whatever they’re saying. _This_ is real, and the results we are getting are _real._ If these comes back as anything but your medication, we’ll find some real medication, and then we’ll find out who switched the pills, okay? It’s going to be alright, and I’m going to make sure you’re safe.”

The way he said it, it was so soft. Not at all patronising, or condescending. Not like he was judging Sherlock for having these hallucinations, or at all freaked out by it. In fact, John sounded so supportive, so sincere, it actually shocked me. I wasn’t expecting him to sound like that at all. I wasn’t expecting him to _act_ like this at all.

I had been expecting a complete disaster, had expected to have to pull John away from Sherlock before he hurt him. I had been so utterly _sure_ that Sherlock’s mania, paranoia, and general _actions_ in his delusional state were going to anger John so much that he snapped again. I’d brought guards with us and everything, so ready for a repeat of the fight in the morgue with Culverton Smith. I hadn’t expected this, not one bit. Not the kind actions, not the reassurance, definitely not the care.

“You can’t know that.” Sherlock whispered, his eyes were so wide, so _innocent,_ he was begging for some reassurance, some help. Usually it would have been me, every other time this had happened, he had clung to me for reassurance. I didn’t like not being able to help, being shut out of this moment, especially when John snapped so easily.

“I know that I can do my best to help you. I know that I’m a doctor, so I can source medication myself if I have to. And I know that I am real, and seeing things clearly, so if things do go wrong for whatever reason, I can be there to tell you exactly what is real and what isn’t.” John smiled gently.

“You can’t stop the voices, though, not without the medication.” Sherlock shook his head, “It’s all so _loud,_ and it doesn’t stop, it never stops.”

“I know, but I can help, if it comes to that, I can help, I promise. Right now though, lets focus on getting these results back, yeah? We don’t have to worry about contingencies or anything, until we get these results back.” John was doing surprisingly well. Even for a well trained doctor, he was doing well. Very well indeed. This was surprising, more surprising that I was expecting.

I hated to admit it, but John really was proving himself here. I wasn’t going to trust him, though, or forgive him, not without a lot more work on his part, and a _lot_ more proof of his new found kindness. And no doubt he’d be in Sherlock’s life a lot more now, seeing as Sherlock was responding so well with him. Well, that and when he was stable again, he was going to kick up such a fuss at being separated, my life would not be worth living.

I had no idea how I was going to explain this to Mummy…

“Just breathe for me, alright? I’m right here, I’m not going to go anywhere.” John was continuing, “And if you doubt that I’m real, then do whatever you need to do to check it. Ask weird questions, check my pulse, whatever you need, alright?”

“You’re taking this far too well for someone who only just figured out that your best friend is Schizophrenic.” Sherlock commented, but moved his hand to John’s wrist, fingers pressing in to find his heart beat.

“Oh trust me, there will be a _lot_ of questions later, which I am expecting to be answered. Right now though, I just want to make sure you’re being treated, and treated _well._ ” John promised, just as the computer beeped.

The results were in.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry that this is late up and I completely missed last week's update! I was, and still am, fighting off a cough that knocked me for six! I completely lost track of the days of the week and by the time I remembered I was supposed to have updated, it was Sunday!


	55. Chapter 55

55 Mycroft’s POV

There was a collective sigh of relief as Sherlock finally accepted his medication. He was still hesitant about taking it, but he did swallow the pills under John’s encouragement, which was the main thing. Getting the medication inside him was half the battle, and possibly the most important at a time like this, everything else could fall into place later, once the medication was in him.

That being said, I had to start planning now for that ‘later.’ The medication took a couple of weeks to start working, it could take longer this time, given how long Sherlock had gone without medication, and the severity of his relapse. He was going to need distracting, while paranoia slowly dissipated. I could phone Detective Inspector Lestrade and ask for more case files, and source some MI5 mission material for him to go through while I was at it. Then I had to set up a visitation rota, as Sherlock would be in desperate need of company and support during this.

I would have reschedule the meeting I had with the prime minister, and the Japanese dignitaries, as well as the South African diplomats, so I could spend a decent amount of time with Sherlock. Mummy and Daddy could fill in some of the holes, but they were never good at handling Sherlock when the voices got too loud. It upset them to see him so badly affected, especially when he heard Sherrinford. That specific voice always upset them more, thinking back to what happened, what could have been… how much more they could have lost in that year.

And John… what to do with _John_? My brother was rather taken with him, and seemed to be relying on him for support, and to ground him in the real world. Sherlock wouldn’t take it well if he was taken from him again, and John’s reaction wasn’t worth thinking about.

But could I risk it? they were doing well right now, John was remarkably calm and in control of the situation. He was stressed, yes, had many, _many_ questions, but he wasn’t shouting, or throwing punches. He could, though, the minute things got too tough for him to handle. The minute Sherlock started screaming again, or talking to the wrong John, or got caught up in his delusion again. It would be so _easy_ for him to become too annoyed again, to turn back to violence to get Sherlock under control. In his mind, it had worked before, he’d hit Sherlock _hard,_ and his breakdown had been stopped. It would be easy to do it again, if things got out of hand.

He looked so caring right now, though. Had been caring all day, and for weeks now. he’d never stopped worrying about Sherlock, and had fought to gain access to him, fought to help _heal_ him. Right now, on the car journey back to the facility Sherlock was currently residing in, he was still being gentle. Talking to Sherlock kindly, telling him that everything was going to be okay, that he was there for him, that he was real, that things were going to get better now. Sherlock’s hand was still clamped around his wrist, feeling his pulse, watching John obsessively, like he’d disappear from existence at any second.

Judging by today’s performance, John would do wonders for Sherlock’s health, but by past performances, he was one of the worst people I could possibly send to watch over my brother. Neither of them were going to allow separation, though, there was absolutely _no way_ either of them were going to take going back to how things were before today.

I had to come up with a solution for that too, then, on top of everything else. I sensed a trip to the Diogenes in my future, and an appointment with the finest scotch. Maybe before I phoned Mummy and explained the situation to her, I was going to need the courage to tell her that her precious youngest son was off the deep end again.

“Sir, you have openings at these times over the next following weeks, would you like me to rearrange any more appointments?” Anthea broke my planning session, showing me her phone.

Looking at it, I found that she had already been going through my schedule, changing round appointments, creating large gaps of time at the centre of every day. Every single one between 11am and 3pm, not including travel time to get from the office to Sherlock and back again. It was excellent, and reflected previous routines set up in similar situations. Sherlock liked routine, he liked order amongst the chaos, it meant he could predict things, could rely on things happening every single day. He liked having something to ground him, to remind him of reality amongst it all.

“No, that is satisfactory.” More than satisfactory, it was _exactly_ what I needed. I would have to give Anthea a bonus at the end of the year, she was indispensable at times.

“Shall I also send for some files?” She asked, already tapping out a request email to Sherlock’s favourite inspector. For a second, I considered him amongst Sherlock’s possible guests over the next few weeks… probably not a good plan. He didn’t know of Sherlock’s diagnosis, and while he had been a big part of John’s investigation, and had seen Sherlock at his worst, he still thought it was all drug related. With Sherlock in this current state, it was probably for the best to keep him out of the loop, until Sherlock was more stable. The same went for Mrs Hudson and Miss Hooper too, naturally. While both women cared for my brother, they were not the best companions when he was hearing voices and fighting off delusions.

“Yes, thank you.” I nodded, watching the email fly off, before turning my attention back to my brother.

He was struggling, and had a bigger fight on his hands to face, but he could do it. he was on the right path now. it was going to take time, and a lot of planning, and encouragement, and a large bit of risk, but we could get him back. I wouldn’t lose him to this. He was going to be safe, healed, not taken over by this terrible illness.

He wouldn’t be taken from me, not like the other one. Sherlock wouldn’t end up like Sherrinford. I wouldn’t lose another brother, I couldn’t face losing another brother.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So my laptop isn't sounding all too healthy today, I'm hoping it's just a 'today' thing but I don't know right now. If I suddenly disappear, it's because it's died and I'm desperately scrambling to afford a new one.


	56. Chapter 56

56 Sherlock’s POV

_“They’re taking me away, Sherlock! You can’t do this! Please don’t make me go!”_

_“I really don’t think that this was a good idea, those pills could be anything. Mycroft could have easily hacked the computers.”_

_“John knows your secret now, he’s never going to see you the same way again! He’s going to leave you out of fear and never,_ **_ever_ ** _return!_ _”_

_“Don’t let them take me away, Sherlock!”_

_“I think you should stop taking those pills now, just in case. There’s other solutions to this problem.”_

_“John’s going to leave! John’s going to leave!”_

“Sherlock, we’ve arrived.” John, real John. His hand was moving, twisting round to hold onto me, gently tugging my arm. I hadn’t let him go, hadn’t stopped feeling his pulse. If I let go, I couldn’t be sure if he was real, if I didn’t, I’d know. I couldn’t be confused between hallucinations and reality when I didn’t let go of the real, solid thing.

_“Aw, little Sherly is holding hands because he’s scared!”_

_“Sherlock, he’s scaring me! Make him stop!”_

_“You can easily get caught in delusions, you know that. You could be holding onto thin air for all you know.”_

Gritting my teeth, I got out the car, keeping firm hold of John, forcing myself to believe that he was real. He was definitely real, _had_ to be. Mycroft spoke to him, the orderlies were giving him confused looks as we made our way through the hospital corridors, he was real, he _had_ to be real.

_“With an imagination like yours, you could imagine anything.”_

_“They’re staring at me, Sherlock, I don’t like it!”_

_“They’re staring at you, you MORON! It’s all in your head, it’s all entirely in your head!”_

“Come on, stay with me. We’re nearly there, Sherlock.” John encouraged, his grip on me tightening. My bones creaked in my wrist, but it was good, a good kind of hurt. It was real, it was John and his strength. A reminder that he was there, that he wasn’t just in my mind. He wasn’t leaving, he wasn’t running scared.

_“Yet. He isn’t running scared_ **_yet._ ** _”_

_“They all run, they never stop running when they find out what you are. Nobody wants to be around the freak who sees things that aren’t there.”_

_“It doesn’t matter if he leaves! You’ll have me! I’ll still be here, I’ll always be here, just like I promised!”_

We stopped briefly in the medical wing, John piling Mycroft’s arms high with equipment. Needles, tubing, bags of medication. Mycroft didn’t look happy to carry it, but did so without complaint, thankfully. I couldn’t take his voice, too, not when it was already so loud inside my mind.

_“Ohhh Johnny Boy’s got a plan! Looks like he’s decided you need a dose of TD12 after all!”_

_“That’s his plan, fill you with TD12, make you forget everything about him and Rosie, and disappear into the night. Can’t say I blame him, nobody really wants to risk themselves, or their baby, around a schizophrenic.”_

_“Sherlock, you need to run now! Before you forget! You can’t forget!”_

_“I don’t want to disappear.”_

Finally, _finally,_ we reached my room. I all but collapsed onto the bed, exhausted and unable to hold myself upright any longer. I’d been running for so long, so _damn_ long. Caught up in conspiracy, hearing the shouts and screams of friends and demons, I couldn’t remember the last time I had slept, the last time I had any sort of _rest._ I was so tired, so tired I could barely keep my eyes open any further. I couldn’t even care about whatever John was planning, I just needed rest, I _wanted_ rest. I couldn’t deal with this for much longer, I wanted rest, I wanted quiet, I wanted _sleep._

“Hey, Sherlock, don’t go to sleep yet. Just give me a few minutes and then you can.” John smiled gently, though there was worry in his eyes.

“I don’t suppose you just want to ask questions now.” I half wished he wanted to question me about all this, but somehow, I didn’t think that was his current plan.

_“Of course it isn’t! He didn’t just get a tonne of equipment for a laugh!”_

_“He’s going to make you forget! You will never remember a thing!”_

“I’ve got a load, but Mycroft can answer the most important ones while you rest. Right now, though, I want to get you hooked up to this first, to replace at least some of the nutrients you’ve lost recently. Now I picked this at random from the medical store room, it’s completely sealed, untampered with, and the information on the side is correct, so I believe that this is the right stuff. Will you let me give it to you?” John asked, showing me the bag to study.

My vision was blurred, but I managed to inspect it well enough. It looked untampered with and sealed, but what if it really was TD12? What if it was something worse? It could easily be _anything,_ anything at all, designed to keep people like me out of the way while serial killers and meddlesome older brothers destroyed your life. Could I let it into my veins? Could I really trust that it was what it was meant to be?

“I’m going to be here all the time, Sherlock, so I’ll be here to make sure it’s what the packet said it is. No-one's going to slip you TD12, or anything else. I know it’s tough to trust me, but please, _trust me_. I wouldn’t lie to you about something like this.” John’s pulse remained steady, “We can lock the doors, make sure the CCTV is on, so you can check it over later if you want.”

“The doors don’t lock from the inside, they’re connected to a main frame in the main office.” I had seen it, studied it as best I could, to see if there was any way to override it in an escape attempt.

“Then we’ll barricade the doors shut.” John promised, eyes pleading me desperately, “Please, just trust me on this. I will keep you safe, I swear to you, I’m going to keep you safe.”

_“Don’t trust him, Sherlock, only a fool would trust him.”_

_“Don’t you dare trust him, Sherlock! He’s going to make you forget me too so he can run off!”_

_“He’s lying! I know he’s lying!”_

“O-Okay, okay. Do it quickly.” Had to be quick, or I’d never allow it. I didn’t want to risk it at all, but I knew, _I knew,_ John wouldn’t lie to me, not about this. He always cared about me, he _always_ took care of me. He wouldn’t lie, I had to trust. But trusting was _so hard_ right now.

“Thank you. I’ll be as quick as possible.” John had the IV set up within minutes, practised hands setting it all up efficiently, “There we go, all set up. now, I think it’s time you slept for a bit. We can talk all of this through later, but right now, you need rest.” He gently pushed me to lay back, pulling the covers up and over my shoulders, taking a seat next to the bed.

“Don’t go anywhere.” He couldn’t go anywhere, I couldn’t have him leave me unprotected.

“I won’t, I’ll be right here all the time.” John squeezed my hand.

“Don’t trust anyone here.” He couldn’t, not _anybody._ I could feel myself falling asleep, I couldn’t tell John the truth when I was asleep. He couldn’t trust a single person here to tell him the truth. They all lied, they lied and lied and _lied._

“I won’t even talk to anybody, alright?” John promised, “I’ll only talk to you and Mycroft.”

“Mycroft lies.” He was quiet now, watching over us from the door way. But as soon as I slept, he could start weaving lies that could never be untold. Lies weren’t kind, they were designed to twist the truth, turn allegiances, give comforting reassurance when the hard truth was better.

“If he tries, I’ll kick him out.” John smiled, “And I’ll wake you up so you can see it, yeah?”

“Use his left arm for leverage, it’s weaker than the right.” I advised, feeling my eye lids droop further and further. I could barely keep them open any longer.

“I’ll keep that in mind.” John’s fingers were running up and down my arm, it was hypnotic, calming. I could fall… asleep right… here…

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the comments and the kudos! :D


	57. Chapter 57

57 John's POV

Sherlock's hand went limp in my own, his entire body relaxing at last into the covers, his breathing evening out as he fell asleep. At last, he was finally resting, hopefully free of his demons, hopefully at some sort of peace. It wouldn't last, it would all come back when he woke up, but right now, at least he was asleep, and at peace to some extent.

The tension in my shoulders dissipated, giving me a moment to catch up with the day. Sherlock was _schizophrenic,_ and was in the middle of a particularly harsh relapse. He'd been put here to control it, or make him better, and all it had done was make him worse. Paranoid to the point of not trusting his own brother. Not that I trusted him as far as I threw him right now.

In fact, I had the _perfect_ opportunity to talk to him right now. I think I deserved some level of explanation from Mycroft, he had put Sherlock and I through enough recently. At the least I deserved some explanation to all of this.

"Talk. Now." I turned to the man in question, who was standing in the corner, watching over us like a hawk, clearly trying to project a level of intimidation.

"And why should I do that?" Mycroft raised an eyebrow.

"Because you have caused an untold amount of damage to your brother all because you believe yourself too high above us to bother to tell anyone anything." I glared at him, refusing to be intimidated by his sneer. He was in the wrong here, I wouldn't allow him to try and turn this around on anyone else but himself. If he had bothered to tell me anything, maybe we could have avoided this, maybe we could have gotten Sherlock stable earlier.

Maybe I could have made sure he stayed on his bloody medication, so he wouldn't have gone through any of this at all.

"I wouldn't try to act like I'm perfect if I were you, because _you_ have a lot to answer for in all of this too, _Doctor_ Watson." Mycroft hissed, I couldn't believe, he was going to try and blame this on _me?_

"I'm not the one who decided that locking my brother up and keeping him away from everyone he cares about was a good idea." I hissed right back, I hadn't done _anything_ to cause this, I hadn't isolated Sherlock, I hadn't locked him up, I hadn't left him paranoid and delusional.

"Because keeping him home with _you_ was such a _good_ idea." Mycroft glared.

"What is _that_ supposed to mean?" I could have done _so much_ good, at the very least, I would have made sure he actually ate and _slept._ I wouldn't have left him paranoid and afraid.

"I think you know exactly what I mean, your methods at controlling my brother during a _mental breakdown_ are _impeccable._ " Mycroft spat out sarcastically, "How many ribs would you have broken if you had been with him? Three? Four? _All twelve?_ "

"I would _never_ hurt him!" not when he was ill, not _ever!_

"Evidence stands on the contrary." Mycroft stepped forward, "Or does your tiny little brain not remember your meeting with Culverton Smith in the morgue? Do you not remember beating him into submission, when he was _clearly_ distressed? When he was _hallucinating?_ He was clearly unwell, and yet you still deemed it appropriate to _beat_ him into submission, you didn't stop until he couldn't get back up again, until he had to have an extended hospital stay to recover. You _knew_ that he wasn't well, that he was _dying,_ and you still decided that beating him was appropriate." Mycroft's words were spat so venomously, I was actually a bit _scared_ of him. He'd never looked this angry, especially towards _me._

"I, I was stressed, we were _all_ stressed! I was trying to calm him down, to get the situation under control, I went too far! I've already apologised!" I had, I'd apologised, vowed to be better man, and was taking steps to rectify that. I wasn't going to do it again, I swore I wasn't going to do it again!

"I don't care for excuses and apologies, I care about my brother's life. You put him in a _hospital,_ and you want me to include _you,_ his supposed _doctor_ and _best friend,_ in his _treatment?_ In his most desperate time of need, I don't think so." Mycroft stopped briefly, as Sherlock let out a whimper in sleep, before continuing, "You are supposed to look after him, to _care_ for him, and instead of doing that, you only beat him and treat him like he's nothing to you."

"I care about him! I care about him more than you can ever imagine, and I certainly do more than _you_ do to care for him!" I argued, standing up, refusing to sit and be shouted at like I was like some sort of serial killer.

" _I_ look after him, _I_ keep him safe, _I_ make sure he gets treatment, _you_ beat him and treat him like he's _nothing_ further than mere punch bag when things get too tough for you to handle." Mycroft glared, "My brother deserves the world, you give him _nothing_ but _dust,_ and if it weren't for his obsession with you, I wouldn't allow you anywhere _near_ him ever again."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry I didn't update yesterday, I was at a business conference all day, and by the time I got home I was so exhausted I completely forgot to do anything!


	58. Chapter 58

58 Mycroft's POV

I would not let John get away with this his actions, he had been a _huge_ cause of my brother's relapse, and I would _not_ let him stroll away from it like it was nothing. He acted like a saint, like he was the best thing to ever happen to Sherlock, like he was his _protector,_ his _best friend,_ when he only bothered when it suited him. The rest of the time, Sherlock was his punching bag, the person who he could blame when things didn't go his way.

No more.

Never again. I didn't care if Sherlock could defend himself, had survived a _lot_ worse than a beating, he would _not_ be hurt again. John would not lay a cruel hand, say a cruel word, to my little brother ever again. He had been through enough, had lost enough, the last thing he needed was the person he called his best friend beating him on top of it all.

"I have apologised _repeatedly_ for that mistake, and I'm doing my best to rectify my mistakes and be the man I want to be. But y _ou_ leave him in places like this, lock him in _solitary,_ isolate him from those he cares about and don't bother to let _anyone_ in. _You're_ not a saint in all this, Mycroft. You have caused more damage than you're admitting to." John countered, not the grovelling apology I wanted, but it was a start. I'd make him apologise, make him make up for every single hit he'd given my brother, make sure that he'd never break another bone in anger. That I was sure of.

"I do what I do to protect Sherlock and his interests. If anyone was allowed in to see him, his symptoms and diagnosis could get out and into the wrong hands. What do you think James Moriarty would have done with Sherlock, if he'd known of his diagnosis?" I did what I had to to keep Sherlock safe, I did not do anything unnecessarily. I caused Sherlock distress, but I stopped his secret getting out, and therefore stopped a clever criminal from destroying his life. I stopped John getting to him, and using violence to contain him. It was worth it, and would _always_ be worth it.

"Somehow, I don't think he'll agree with you." John glared, "Isolation causes untold damage, and _you_ put your paranoid, delusional, _hallucinating_ brother in isolation, without even thinking for one _second_ about what it would do to his health."

"I thought about it more than you thought about beating him." Of that I was sure of, I had thought long and hard, had considered past experience and come up with a plan. John had lashed out, unthinking, uncaring, and didn't care enough to stop himself after the initial slap.

"I was _grieving,_ we didn't have a clue what was going on in that morgue, Sherlock was _losing_ it! What else could I do but try and get him to focus again?" John waved his arms, disturbing Sherlock's hold on his wrist. My brother let out a pained noise, making us both freeze, he stayed asleep.

"Talking about this now is only going to wake Sherlock, but don't think I will let it slide. I will be keeping a _very_ close eye on you. If you slip in your anger management, or therapy, sessions, or show even the _slightest_ hint of losing your temper with Sherlock again, I will make sure you never see him again, his wants be damned, am I making myself clear?" I would send John to the deepest level of hell if he dared touch my brother with anything but kindness again. I had no qualms in getting rid of him if I had to. The only reason why he was still here was because Sherlock wanted him, because Sherlock trusted him for some reason. If it wasn't for that, he would gone before he could blink.

"Crystal." John ground out, still glaring at me like I was the enemy, "But, if _I_ find out you've been making him worse, or if you've let the staff make him worse, then _I_ will make sure your life isn't worth living, got it?"

"Nothing you could do could possibly cause me anything but minor inconvenience." I could deal with someone like John all too easily.

"Of course not, how is the Diogenes by the way? Still silent?" John raised an eyebrow. Low blow, _incredibly_ low blow. But the kind of protective streak I _wanted_ to see in him.

"That is not the point. The point is making sure that Sherlock is safe. That he is well looked after, and on the way to recovery. For that, we need a plan, and lucky for you, I have one." The tried and tested method, one that always distracted him enough to let his medication work and get his symptoms under control.

"What can I do?" John asked, determination on his face.

"Sherlock's medication is going to take at least three weeks to start working again, which means that he is still going to be hearing voices, feeling paranoid, and delusional. So he is going to need to be distracted from all of this. The way to do this, is shockingly simple - give him company. He will need to be around others for most of his waking day to distract him and bring him back to the real world when he wanders too far away. I am taking a daily shift, Mummy and Daddy are doing weekend shifts, the doctors are filling in the evenings and mornings, you will take late afternoons. For now, it would be best to not bring Rosamund, as I think we can all agree that a baby could complicate matters. Are you capable of managing that?" I had it all planned out, time slots filling up with distractions for Sherlock.

My visits where he could argue and shout and hurl abuse in his frustration. Mummy and Daddy to give him love and a sense of normalcy, as well as the mundane, he would never admit to it, but he _liked_ the mundane while in this state, it grounded him, because his mind would _never_ come up with something so boring as Daddy losing his glasses behind the sofa again.

And John. Who could remind him of the life he wanted to work towards. To give him a link to the outside world and the other people he cared about. Hopefully. If he behaved himself.

I may not have been here all the time, but it was going to _feel_ like I was. The diplomats I was meeting with in the next few months were not going to be impressed…

It was worth it, if it meant Sherlock was safe and brought back to the world again. It was completely worth it.

It was worth it. It had to be. We could not let him carry on like this otherwise. It was entirely worth all the disruptions and everything, if it meant he came back to us.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry I didn't update last week, I've been here, there and everywhere recently!


	59. Chapter 59

60 Sherlock's POV

Sleep was hard to come by, despite my exhaustion. I kept on hearing snippets, distant snippets, of what sounded like John and Mycroft arguing.

_"I'm his doctor, I'll make sure he's well looked after!"_

_"If you were truly his doctor, you would have looked after him better in the first place!"_

_"If any of **you** bothered to tell me about his condition, I would have been better prepared to look after him!"_

_"Somehow I don't think a psychiatric diagnosis would have stopped you from beating my brother to a pulp."_

Constant, all night long, until I woke the next morning.

"Hey Sherlock, sleep well?" John was the first thing I saw, sitting on a chair by my bed, hand still in my own.

"The headache has abated." I answered, after taking quick stock of myself. The headache was nearly gone, the lights weren't nearly as painful, and, leaning up on my arm a bit, I didn't feel as shaky. All good things.

_We're still here though, Sherlock, we're **never** going away. _

_You shouldn't really be trusting him that much you know. He's probably been giving you all kinds of things while you slept._

_Quick, Sherlock! What was the last thing you remember!_

Falling asleep, in this room. John had been here, Mycroft had been here, too. Both were still in the room, the door was still locked, the chair still barricading the handle.

"Where are the security tapes?" I had to see them, had to check to make sure. Mycroft knew my methods, could replicate the _exact_ same conditions as the night before so I wouldn't be suspicious. Anything could have happened in that time, _anything!_ Who knew if my memories were correct, or what had been given to me in that time! I had a cannula in! Oh God I'd let John attach me to an IV and then _fell asleep!_ Was I crazy?!

_I thought that was evident._

"Of course, brother mine. They're right here, on my phone." Mycroft held it out to me.

"No, not your phone. You've had time to hack the system, change it all round! Anything could be on those tapes!" he could have done anything, and edited it out! It was all possible! Everything could still be a lie, anything could be running through my veins, _what had they done to me?_

"Shhh, Sherlock, shhh. It's alright, calm down a minute. How would you like to see the tapes?" John asked, voice calm, collected, _safe._

_Not safe, definitely not safe. Can't be safe. He's a doctor, he's working for Mycroft! He could use your trust in him to destroy you and you wouldn't even know it!_

_Ohhh, who to trust, who to trust? That is the question!_

_Don't trust anyone, Sherlock! Don't trust anyone but me! I'm the only one who wouldn't lie to you._

"Give me your phone." I could hack in myself, go through the pathways, find the loopholes, the unedited versions. Mycroft couldn't hack every version, couldn't make every single one seamless. There'd be a mistake, a skip, a jump, _something,_ and I'd know. I'd definitely know.

John handed me his phone, and I made quick work of hacking my way into the security files of the entire facility. I could trust this, knew what I was doing. This was the main frame computer system, couldn't change that, nope, definitely couldn't.

_Of course you can. Come on Sherlock, you know better than that._

_Sherly, don't be obvious, you **know** that anything can be hacked and changed. Sherrinford once hacked NASA and changed the codes for the next space mission. **You** hacked MI5 and changed wrong intel to the right intel a few years later. Anything can be hacked, especially hospital security systems. _

No, I knew this, because I was going to _believe_ it. And if I believed it, it had to be true, because I knew what was fake and what was real now. I was getting better, I was on my medication, **I would not be delusional anymore.** I was going to be down to earth, normal, and **completely in control** of myself and my thoughts. Paranoia paid off, that was fine, paranoia was **fine,** it was all fine. Everything was just **fine.** I just had to see the damn tapes.

Finding them, I watched every single one I could find, the feed from my room, the feed from the corridor, the nurses station, the medication cabinet, all of it. Every single one added up, nobody had left my room, nobody had entered my room.

I had slept, Mycroft and John and argued, and one of the old drug addict patients was stealing morphine from the medicine cabinet again. Nothing out of the ordinary, nothing that that particular patient hadn't done many times before over my stays here. Nothing _I_ hadn't done myself in the past.

Nobody had come in, nobody had come out. I was safe, I was safe, **I was safe.**

_For now._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ignore the '60' at the top, I buggered up the numbering and really cannot be bothered to fix it lol


	60. Chapter 60

61 Sherlock's POV

"I have created a schedule of visitors to cover the next few weeks, while your medication builds up and starts working." Mycroft showed me his phone, the screen showed a timetable of clearly blocked hours, each marked by one, or two, or four people.

_Back to being watched over, fussed with, and forced to **talk.** And half of it isn't even bloody therapy. You're going to be climbing the walls in minutes. _

_They can't do that to you! They know you like being alone, this is mean!_

"Before you start to protest, my times are non-negotiable. I will be here, every day, from 11am, to 3pm. And Mummy and Daddy will visit every weekend from 3pm to 5pm." Mycroft continued, before I could even argue. Not that I was, I knew the reasoning behind it, knew the routine so well I could hardly pretend to be ignorant about it. Mycroft always visited at those times, every time I was coming down to earth, in every sense of the words. He brought case files, puzzles, and anything else he thought could be a distraction.

He let me shout, scream, and verbally eviscerate him. Get out every single frustration I had over my situation, and was possibly the only person I could talk to who'd understand my pain. Or at least, _understand_ where my voices were coming from.

_Gathering information to use against you later._

_Information he can give to me so I can burn the heart out of you._

_He'll use the information to tell the doctors and Mummy! They'll punish you for it! They're already punishing you for hearing me, they're going to take me away from you!_

"Where's Mrs Hudson, Lestrade and Molly?" they weren't anywhere on this list, and I wanted to see them. Them and Rosie. Mycroft had finally seen the light over letting me see John, I wanted to see _everyone,_ too.

"It's a bit too far along to blame your behaviour on drug withdrawal, brother mine. We should wait until you aren't exhibiting so many symptoms." Mycroft answered, "We don't want them also knowing that you're ill, do we?"

"Bit too late for that." No way we could hide it really. They'd all seen me, before I'd been sent here.

_They all know, and they're all going to be scared of you. Just look at John, he's so hesitant, he doesn't even know what to say to you!_

"We can blame drugs on that. You were watched constantly, but you're bloody good at escaping and sneaking around. We can easily say that you were actually still high, and that's what caused all this." John answered, I gave him an incredulous look, did he _really_ think they'd fall for that?

_Of course he does, he's an idiot pet. Why do you bother to keep him around?_

_Of course he doesn't. He's been with the others for weeks now, they've had time to talk about this in detail, and if John knows, so does everyone else._

"Let's be honest, Sherlock, you while delusional and hallucinating is basically the same as you high." John shrugged, "It'll be easy enough to lie about it."

"Fine." It could work, I guessed. _Lestrade thought you were high before, during your last relapse. And if John is using that as an excuse, they'll believe it. They trust John._

_How do you cope with the stupidity of the people you see every day? It must be so BORING!_

_They won't believe it, Sherlock, they'll figure it out and then they'll never trust you the same way!_

"I suppose seeing Rosie is out the question as well then?" I sighed, wishing to see the little girl, but knowing it wasn't possible.

_Who in the right mind is going to let their **baby** anywhere near you while you're **delusional?!**_

"Yeah, sorry, Sherlock. But once the delusions have calmed down and everything, I'll bring her, alright? I'll bring lots of pictures and videos, and get you all caught up on everything she's done during my visits though, alright?" John smiled, squeezing my shoulder.

_He doesn't mean that._

_Definitely doesn't mean that._

_Who **would** mean that? Even the biggest moron on the planet wouldn't let their baby near you! _

"Thank you." I smiled, too, it wasn't exactly what I wanted, but it was better than nothing. It wasn't like I didn't understand the reasoning either. I didn't want Rosie to see me when I was struggling with all the hallucinations and everything. She wouldn't remember it in her older years, but I would rather she didn't see it. She had seen enough of my breakdown on Baker Street, it was best to avoid every chance she could see anymore of it as best as we could.

"And like I said, anything else you want, just ask, we can find a way of making it happen." John was putting on a brave face, he had so many questions, I could see them all on his face. But I wasn't ready to explain it yet, wasn't ready to expose so much of myself, so much I had kept secret for so many years.

"Thank you." I nodded.

"Yes, within reason, as I said." Mycroft interrupted, "Any time that you are not having visitors, either Doctor Palmer will be with you, or one of the more agreeable orderlies. We will all follow the usual code of conduct to ensure that we are all real and actually present, and will do all that we can to keep you grounded and on this plane of existence."

"Try and sound more clinical, I dare you." Would it _kill_ him to show even the _slightest_ bit of emotion? Would it kill him to actually show for a _second_ how this made him feel?

_He has no emotions, Sherlock, you know that. He fakes it all, just like always! He didn't even cry at the hospital!_

_The Ice Man does not get his nickname from emotional outbursts and brotherly compassion._

"Emotions do nothing to solve the situation, making visitor schedules and keeping you medicated does, would you prefer me to cry hysterically at your latest antics?" Mycroft asked.

"I would rather a hole in the head, your acting is terrible." And any sort of emotion on his face was disturbing. Unless it was disgust or anger at me, then that was just satisfying.

"Not all of us prefer the dramatics, Sherlock." Mycroft made John snort.

"Says the man who kidnaps his younger brother's flatmates and takes them to abandoned warehouses just to try and intimidate them." John countered, I let out a bit of a laugh, couldn't help it really.

_Who's to say that Mycroft hasn't intimidated John into doing something that will make you worse?_

_Oh please, could this **get** any worse? _

_Culverton Smith could be coming to kill all of your friends! Mycroft could easily cover it up!_

**No.** John had a strong moral code, he wouldn't allow anyone to die. And he had sworn an oath to do no harm. He would _not_ hurt me. He would not try and make me worse.

Besides, since when in the last seven years had John _ever_ been intimidated by Mycroft?

"A necessary vetting process, I assure you. You never know who could be trying to kill Sherlock, many people have tried in the past." Mycroft answered smugly, like he was completely in the right.

"And yet, you didn't work out Smith's plan until it was nearly too late, and _I_ came in and saved him." John glared. _See, Mycroft doesn't care! He'll let everyone you love be killed! He'll let Culverton kill you! It's all a plan!_

"A one off fluke, I assure you. One that will not happen again." Mycroft glared right back. _LIAR! HE'S LYING! HE'S GOING TO LET CULVERTON SMITH KILL EVERYONE! HE'LL DO IT! I KNOW IT! DON'T TRUST HIM!_

"Make that the second time you've nearly lost him, seeing as I shot the cabbie trying to feed him poison pills. Oh, _and_ you had _no idea_ about the bomb at the swimming pool, _or_ the one on the train station, in fact, _you_ sent us on that case. On _both_ cases in fact. So I think I do a better job than _you_ do at protecting Sherlock." _SEE?! DO YOU SEE?! MYCROFT'S GOING TO HAVE YOU KILLED! HE'S GOING TO MAKE SURE YOU DIE, SHERLOCK! IT'S ALL A PLAN! IT'S ALL A HUGE PLAN TO GET RID OF YOU!_

"SHUT UP!" I couldn't stand the conflict, the shouting it was creating. I needed _quiet, calm,_ not loud arguments that fuelled my delusions more!

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anyone else going to see Infinity War tonight? I'm too excited for words!


	61. Chapter 61

62 Sherlock's POV

"Sorry, Sherlock, we didn't mean to stress you out." John was over-apologising, trying desperately to be good and kind and lovely and understanding and a _good friend_ to the psych patient and it was _infuriating._

"Don't apologise, it's inane." I snapped, not meaning to, but my _head,_ it _hurt so much._ It was all so loud and there were so many shouts and thoughts racing through, mixed with a huge dose of paranoia, I couldn't deal with actual arguments on the outside world as well.

_Ohhhh, look who's finally cracking again under the stress! This **will** be fun, anyone up for a game of WHO CAN CRACK SHERLOCK THE QUICKEST?_

_They're not looking out for your best interests, Sherlock, they're pandering to you in fear, you have to remember that._

_Don't lose it Sherlock please! I need you to keep me safe!_

"So-" John caught himself, "Alright, anything you need."

"And stop being so agreeable, it's boring, pointless and _not helpful._ " It set my teeth on edge, I _hated_ being pandered to, _hated_ being treated like some sort of bomb that was going to explode at the slightest bit of provocation.

"It's not like I've had any time to prepare or figure out what to do now, Sherlock. I only found out your diagnosis eight hours ago." John defended himself, better. Slightly.

_Pandering, Sherlock!_

_Look at the puppy get some bite back! I wonder how long it will be until he really sinks his teeth into you!_

"Is that all it's been? God, time moves slow." It didn't feel that long ago, time sleeping not withstanding. Why did time have to move so slow when I needed it to speed up?

_Time can't change, Sherlock._

_Forgetting the basics of physics, Sherlock? Ohhh boy this is getting interesting now! How much more are you going to forget and get confused with? How much more of your brain is going to get scrambled?_

_Don't forget about time too, Sherlock! You already forgot about the solar system!_

_I really don't think those pills are doing you any good, if you're thinking about trying to bend the laws of time and space._

It was a figure of _speech_ damn it! A damn figure of speech!

Why couldn't I be left alone? Why did this have to be so loud and so contradicting? I wanted quiet, what I wouldn't do for some _quiet_ right now.

"I will take that as our cue to leave, Sherlock, you are supposed to be resting, and we are currently not helping with that." Mycroft interrupted my tirade, had I just spoken out loud then?

_Of course you did, look at John's face, he's more worried than he was a few seconds ago._

_You're going to scare him off Sherlock, then you're going to be all alone, with only us for company._

_Yay, you'll have to talk to me then!_

"We can't just leave like this, Sherlock's not well." John protested, hand tightening around my own.

"Which is why he has doctors checking in on him, _psychiatric_ doctors. They are far more likely to be able to help." Mycroft replied pompously.

_Hit him, show him who's boss! Show him you don't want John to leave!_

_Yes punch him, get locked in isolation for assaulting someone, scare John more, make sure he **never** returns. _

John still hesitated, looking between the two of us. I didn't want him to go, wanted Mycroft to leave, but not John. Not yet. We had been apart for so long, I wanted to catch up, wanted to make sure I hadn't missed a single important thing, make sure everyone was safe at home. I didn't have any contact, I didn't know what was going on outside of these four walls, John was my connection, he could tell me everything I needed to know, do whatever I needed him to do. I couldn't lose him yet, _please,_ not yet. He was such a good distraction, we could talk and plan and get to the bottom of everything together.

_You want to open up to him about how you're feeling and what you're experiencing? It's like you **want** him to never come back._

"Doctor Watson, you have a daughter at home waiting for you, Mrs Hudson can hardly look after her all day, especially when she is also scheduled to look after her tomorrow while you work." Mycroft prompted, giving John a hard glare, "You will be returning tomorrow, it is not like you are never seeing Sherlock again."

"Not that you've given me any reason to _trust_ that." John glared right back.

"Trust that I will, because if I don't, the both of you will make my life impossibly more difficult than it already is. And contrary to Sherlock's constant insults, I actually _like_ getting work done on occasion." Mycroft opened the door with an air of contempt and annoyance.

"Fine, but I expect to be picked up _immediately_ from work and brought _straight here._ And if I hear _anything,_ anything _at all_ that sounds like Sherlock has been mistreated, I'm taking him straight out of here." John warned, I believed him on that.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back, officially! I have a new laptop, and managed to get everything off my hard drive! It took a while, but it's all here now!   
> Anyone else really excited to find out what 'The Game Is Now' is?


	62. Chapter 62

63 John's POV

I _hated_ leaving, really, desperately hated it. I wanted to stay, to help Sherlock somehow, give him support and distractions and whatever else was needed. But at the same time, I didn't know how much I was helping. Sherlock wasn't well, and arguing with Mycroft in front of him was a huge mistake, I mean, he spoke to something, or some _one_ who wasn't there just now, was that caused by us? Were we aggravating him more than helping him? I didn't know, I was scared to find out.

I was scared of it all really. I'd had a bit of time to think about all this, and it had finally sunk in, the gravity of the situation. Sherlock was _schizophrenic,_ Sherlock! Our Sherlock, maniac, genius, _my best friend_ Sherlock! I would have never expected that, _never_ in all of my life even _dreamed_ that he'd be schizophrenic! Autistic? Definitely. Bipolar? Possibly. Depressed? Most likely. Everything else I had put down to eccentricity, nothing more. And yet, it was actually schizophrenia the whole time.

Though, how much of his personality was caused by his illness? He talked to me a lot when I wasn't around, was that him hallucinating, or just not noticing I wasn't there? What about his non-existent sleeping pattern? His eating habits? Was this the reason why he was so lonely, so rude to others?

What did his voices even _say_ to him? When had this all started? What had he had delusions about before? I couldn't… I didn't have any answers, and Mycroft wasn't going to give them to me, he was staying completely tight lipped on the subject, only saying that it was up to Sherlock to tell me what he wished to tell me.

"But how am I supposed to be helping him when I know absolutely nothing about his symptoms? I need something to work with here so I can help!" I couldn't just blindly wander around! I needed _something!_

"It is not my place to tell you every intimate detail of Sherlock's condition, it is his, and his alone." Mycroft replied, using the tone that brooked no arguments.

"That's never stopped you before! You've told me loads of things in the past that Sherlock hasn't ever spoken about!" I argued anyway, I _needed_ answers. I was at the tip of the iceburg, I needed the rest of it. I couldn't help unless I had the answers I needed. All I wanted to do was _help,_ get Sherlock well again, get him out of that place and back into the world, where he belonged. He didn't deserve to be locked up like that, delusional or not.

He was so alone, and so ill. I'd do anything to fix that. He'd fixed me so many times, and given me more than I could possibly say, I had to return the favour, _had_ to give something back to him. I'd left him alone for too long, let him spiral into drug addiction and nearly let him die at the hands of Culverton Smith. The least I could do was help take away the paranoia he still felt over the man.

"Telling you that my brother wished to be a pirate in his childhood years is entirely different to telling you his history with institutions and delusions. _He_ will tell you what you want to know, _when he is ready._ Right now, I can only tell you of the systems we have in place which ease his paranoia during visitations. If you stop arguing with me for thirty seconds, I can tell you that." Mycroft put his foot down, and I actually did shut up. _Something,_ finally, something I could do to either help or talk about or _something._ It was better than nothing, better than what I had already been given. Maybe it would be a window into Sherlock's world view, or his brain, or at least into his psyche.

"As you may have already figured out, Sherlock is incredibly paranoid about seeing people who are not really there. And so, he likes to be certain that he is having conversations with a real person, not his hallucinated version. With that in mind, we made a system to help reassure him that we were real. That system is that every time we see him, or enter his room, we tell him a fact which he doesn't know. It sounds ridiculous, as my brother is very intelligent, but it is possible, if you give him facts outside of the worlds of crime and science." Mycroft explained, sounded reasonable, I guessed…

"What kind of facts are you on about then? Like the pointless ones you get on QI?" Sherlock never watched the show, and it was full of weird facts, like _the Earth has two moons._ Would that do?

"Anything he can double check, yes. The routine is to walk in, give him your fact, and your phone, so he can check, and then move on. He will still be paranoid and wary, because his brain is more than capable of creating vast hallucinations, but it is a start, and gives him something to hold onto." Mycroft nodded.

"Anything I should avoid, outside of science and crime?" it was best to ask, just in case, and to see if I could get anything more out of him while he was slightly in the mood to share.

"Do not mention space. I will not explain why, and do not even think about asking Sherlock either, because the subject is _very_ sensitive, but do not mention space, planets, stars, the solar system, or _anything_ to do with it." Mycroft had a look that clearly meant that he really was not kidding this time.

"We had arguments about the solar system before, and he seemed fine." A bit angry because I knew more than him on a subject, but nothing too… well, out of Sherlock's version of ordinary.

"He was in control of his mind at the time. Trust me when I say that talking about it now would do nothing but upset him, and possibly make a voice in his head _very_ loud." Mycroft looked pained for a second, before quickly covering it up, putting the mask of intimidation back on.

"Every other topic is fine, and it does not matter how silly or insignificant the fact is, just say it, let him research and be reassured, then your visit can continue." He continued like nothing had happened to make him look like that.

"Alright. I'll see what I can do." I wasn't too bad on general knowledge, pub quizzes and too many nights watching reruns of QI on Dave when I couldn't sleep had given me a fair amount of useless stuff rattling around in my head. I'd have to do a bit of research to come up with some really good things, but I could manage that easily enough.

Tonight though, I had a lot of research to do, symptoms, medications, side effects, likely rates of relapse, and everything in between. I was going to be up _late._

"It also goes without saying that if you tell anyone in your social circle about what you saw today, or about Sherlock's diagnosis, I will be forced to do something rather unpleasant to you and anybody you told. This is a secret that _very_ few know about, or will ever find out, and I have worked _very_ hard to make it that way. So telling someone would be _very_ unadvised." Mycroft warned as we parked up on Baker Street.

"I wouldn't dream of telling anyone." I wanted to, to tell someone and try and get my head round it, but I wouldn't _dare._ If Sherlock hadn't told me about this, he certainly didn't tell anybody else about it. It was his secret to share, not mine.

"Good. And I will send an information pack on the condition in question in a secure file tomorrow to your house for your research purposes. It would be for the best if you refrain from doing any internet research, a hacker could be anywhere." Mycroft advised.

"Thank you." At least he was doing that much to help me. Otherwise I wouldn't know where to even _start_ with all this.

"A simple security measure, nothing more. In return, I expect you to treat my brother with the respect he deserves, and to keep your emotions in check." Mycroft warned, in that way of his that said 'do as I say, or you will be in unimaginable pain.'

"Like I said before, I'll do whatever it takes to get him better." I stepped out of the car, not watching it drive off into the night.

Now, to try and process all this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If anyone got confused by the 'QI on Dave' sentence, it's not a typo. Dave is a TV channel in the UK which basically just shows reruns of QI, Mock The Week and Top Gear, with occasional original shows and the Red Bull Soap Box Race. It's quite a popular channel, and now hosts and guests joke on Mock The Week and QI that they'll be repeated on Dave forever. Their plus one channel is also called Dave Ja Vu.


	63. Chapter 63

64 Mycroft's POV

John spent his evening with his daughter, and did not say a word of Sherlock's condition to anyone. He answered questions with replies of 'Sherlock's getting things under control now, I'm going back every day to make sure that he's okay,' and left it at that. It was as good an explanation as any, and it calmed the questioning from Mrs Hudson, Detective Inspector Lestrade and Doctor Hooper.

What did surprise me, though, was that John refrained from doing any research himself overnight, he actually _waited_ for the information packet in the morning. I completely expected him to immediately get online and start looking for answers, but he actually waited. Maybe he could actually follow some form of orders… only time would tell with that, though…

Sherlock also managed to sleep for the night, without chemical help. I suspected he would, he had been exhausted when we had left him, dark bruises still under his eyes, and after the previous few weeks, it was no surprise he found sleep easy. Whether he dreamt, or if he had any sort of sleep disturbance, that was another question, and a harder one to answer. My brother had always slept like the dead, not moving an inch all night long. Even the most horrific of nightmares were undetectable, until he woke up.

I refrained from watching his morning activities, preferring to deduce them for myself when I reached him at 11am on the dot.

"A study at Cambridge University has shown that sheep can recognise the faces of humans, including the Ex-President Of The United States, Barrack Obama." I stated as I walked into Sherlock's room, thankful that I had had found time to read all of the research reports from all the universities in the country last month.

"Bullshit." Sherlock held out his hand, I dutifully placed my phone in it, watching him frantically type the fact into google, watching two news reports, including one from America, then reading four more articles, avoiding Wikipedia entirely. Probably a safe bet, he was reasonably right about me being Wikipedia itself. I knew the people who created the website, and gave them the vague details of the things they should strike from the website immediately, in the interests of national security.

"Huh. Who knew sheep were capable of doing anything more than providing wool and food." Sherlock handed the phone back, "Now, do you have what I asked for?" his hand stayed out, I gave him the laptop I had brought with me.

"You seem… calmer, today." Less paranoid at least, even though his eyes were darting between me and the same three points in the room. Judging by the regularity, Moriarty was in the corner, John was sitting in the chair at the desk, and the other one was sitting on the bed, between the two of us. _Always_ between us, in every way possible.

"I agreed to the anti-anxiety on top of the anti-psychotic. It's barely touching the sides." Sherlock admitted, pulling up the video feeds I had set up especially for him. The hospital, 221a and 221b Baker Street, John's townhouse and place of work, Scotland Yard and St Bart's morgue, along with all the rooms in each of those places. He brought up John's townhouse, watching him read through the file I had sent, while Rosie played with her toys on the floor.

"I assume the file only contains symptoms, medications and side effects, and nothing on me, myself?" Sherlock asked, I nodded, "Good. I will talk to him myself about my personal history when the time is right. There's no avoiding it, but I will explain in my own way."

"Of course, brother mine." I took a seat, watching him scroll through every other feed, lingering on the hospital feed for a while longer, until he was satisfied.

"I made a promise, Sherlock, I intend to keep it." I reassured him, "I know you missed your usual visit, but I sat in that night, he wasn't alone."

"Thanks." Sherlock handed back the laptop, "He won't shut up about the stars this time. He and Moriarty want me to escape by going up to the roof. I'll give you one guess which one wants me to jump."

"Well at least the roof is guarded at all times." It was one of the priorities in this facility, making sure the roof was inaccessible. It helped me to sleep at night, knowing that Sherlock couldn't get up there, too. I had had enough of family members jumping off of roofs for a life time.

"Do you really think I couldn't get past them?" Sherlock's smile was confident, bordering on cocky, though I saw the fear in his eyes.

"You would have to get through twenty three doors, all needing a retinal scan and a key card. That is without considering the constant surveillance, the orderlies, doctors, nurses and all the other various security measures this place boasts. You were trained to a high standard, and have an intellect that makes most people quake in fear, but you couldn't get up there. You can't actually get anywhere in this facility without help, and no-one in here would help you, no matter what you deduced about them." I had vetted every single person in this place, had made sure the security measures were in place, _everything._ I updated it all so often I almost counted it as a hobby these days, if I actually _had_ hobbies.

"John's saying that I could do it anyway, and Moriarty assures me that anything can be hacked." Sherlock sighed, rubbing at his temples.

"That would imply that everything in here wasn't designed by me personally, and you may be good Sherlock, but you cannot outdo me in this." I reassured, trying not to sound smug.

"I can still outdo you in self restraint around cake, you've put on two pounds in the last month." Sherlock was defensive, not something I could blame him for, how long had his voices been whispering in his ear, encouraging him to do reckless things, scaring him and making him fear for his own safety?

Hitting back at me, it was his way of coping. If he was constantly trying to win an argument against me, he wasn't listening to the other voices in his head, scaring himself and winding himself up. Arguing with me probably wasn't the best way of coping he had, but at least it was something, and, right now, it was giving him that _something._ Just a few minutes, maybe a few hours, a day where he wasn't listening to the voices inside his head, letting the delusions take over his mind, was a blissful break for him.

"It's one and a half." I corrected, had actually lost a pound in worry over the last few weeks. Sorting out Sherlock's care did not leave much time to eat, to say the least.

"Keep telling yourself that." Sherlock smirked, the flash of his old self appearing. Not for long, but it was there. That small, tiny, flash of his old, confident self was enough to know that we hadn't lost him, that he wasn't too far gone. We could get him back, if we kept him on the medications, kept him distracted, we'd get him back. Cease the delusions, quieten the voices, and get him back to his usual, brilliant self.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> By the way, every fact I post in this is true! My source is QI and the QI Elves twitter feed, I'd highly recommend checking both out, they're really interesting!


	64. Chapter 64

65 John's POV

Reading through all the information was dizzying. I had learnt a fair bit during my training, but _my God,_ I'd never gone into so much detail, let alone ever had to apply it to a real person. A real person I knew and cared deeply for.

The symptoms, the medications, the possible side effects, I was reeling from it all. And Sherlock dealt with it every single day of his life. Even when he was considered 'well,' he was still suffering from it, still had some symptoms, still had the worry of relapse hanging over his head constantly.

And he'd been living through a relapse for _weeks_ now, had been stuck in a paranoid loop, fully believing his delusions, scared for his life, _our_ lives, desperate to help, to _do something_ to help the problem only apparent to him. All while _hearing voices,_ telling him abusive things and God knows what else. He had obviously been told to believe that his medication was TD12, and that Mycroft was out to get him, though the jury was still out on that one. But what else had they told him? What else had his voices been whispering in his ears all this time?

That was without even thinking about how long this had been going on for. Men developed the condition in their late teens and early twenties, how long had he been suffering for? How long did his first break last, before someone noticed? Did anyone notice? What did he believe in his previous relapses? Did he start taking drugs to try and stop the voices, to block out all the fear? Or were the drugs to dull the pain of something else? I didn't know, even with this file, I still didn't know enough, I would never know enough. Not without talking to Sherlock himself.

Luckily, it was time to start making a move. I had to get Rosie, to leave the house, then drop her off at 221b before I got picked up. Thankfully, Mrs Hudson had agreed to babysit again. She and Molly were going to go to late lunch together, before taking Rosie to look at the ducks in Regent's Park. Rosie _loved_ the ducks, had done ever since she had first seen them. She'd been fascinated with them immediately, and loved nothing more than to spend a while throwing bread for the ducks.

Somehow, she'd even managed to get Sherlock involved in the feeding, even after Sherlock had said that feeding ducks was a common way for spies and various other operatives to disclose information to each other discreetly… maybe that's why he had agreed to it in the first place, actually. So he could observe various agents exchange information discreetly. He certainly had been interested in the two _very_ strange men a few months ago, one ginger, dressed in black, one nearly white blonde, dressed entirely in white, looking very out of place by the pond.

"Ready to see Nanny Hudson?" I picked my daughter up, after managing to wrestle her into her shoes.

"Nana!" Rosie clapped excitedly, smile bright and innocent. Had Sherlock ever been this happy? When had his innocence been taken from him? When had the world collapsed into a terrifying place for him?

"Yeah baby girl, we're going to see Nanny Hudson, and then you and Auntie Molly are going to feed the ducks!" I carried her out to the car, managing to strap her in.

"Ducks!" Rosie cried in joy, keeping up a constant chant of 'ducks' the whole way to Baker Street. It was at least a bit distracting, before I went off to see Sherlock, knowing the situation was going to be difficult. We were going to have to talk, a _lot,_ about his diagnosis, his medication regime, his warning signs and triggers. Maybe not his past today, maybe not his entire medical history, but at the very least the basics so I could help him as best as I could.

Then, we'd talk about Rosie, like I'd promised. I had a huge archive of photos and videos on my phone to show him, including a few special ones she'd managed to take on my phone when she had managed to unlock it. They were a bit blurred, her fingers in front of the camera, but still adorable. Sherlock would like those, would appreciate her curiosity, probably tell me that she was incredibly intelligent for working out the camera. That she was the most intelligent baby he had ever met, aside from himself. He thought she was utterly brilliant in every way, and hopefully he'd enjoy hearing about her.

I'd take her to see him soon, as soon as he was more stable. I wouldn't wait too long, I couldn't. Rosie missed Sherlock, and Sherlock definitely missed Rosie. Maybe she'd cheer him up, give him something else to focus on, so he didn't think about his condition and the situation he was currently in. Her presence worked pretty well for me in that way, maybe it would help him in a similar way.

Hmm, Rosie's birthday was coming up soon, maybe we could take a trip then, if Sherlock was feeling better by then. That could work… could make it a surprise for the both of them…

Almost as soon as Rosie was in Molly's arms, one of Mycroft's cars pulled up. It was time to go. Time to talk to Sherlock and finally find out the truth.

Suddenly, I really, really did not want to find out.

How did he cope with this, how could he possibly cope with all of this? Completely alone and without help from any close friends.


	65. Chapter 65

66 Sherlock's POV

Mycroft was _the most_ insufferable brother to _ever_ walk to the planet, but he was a bloody good distraction. I _hated_ admitting it, but he was.

_At least you can rely on him to do something right and good for once._

_How is it good in any way? Arguing with him makes you block out **us,** the only ones telling you the truth in all this mess, we are the ones you should listen to Sherlock. Only us, only ever us. _

"Oh brother, you _are_ getting slow in your old age. You should know by now that I can see through everything with perfect clarity, and that lying to me does nothing but cause an argument." I paced around, focusing on what was _real,_ not what I was hallucinating. Simple enough to figure it out, two figures were no longer on this mortal coil, and the other should be on his way here, not currently in this room. Mycroft _had_ turned up though, and had provided necessary proof of his reality.

"I will have you know that I am not lying to you, _little brother,_ and you will do well to remember just which one of us is the cleverer of the two." Mycroft growled, annoyed. I'd successfully wound him up all afternoon, and it had been _joyous._ The most fun I had had in _weeks,_ I didn't want to let it go.

_He's letting you wind him up! He feels sorry for you!_

_Mycroft is playing an angle, he wants something!_

"Yes, and you're old and fat, meanwhile I am younger and therefore higher functioning, current issues aside. So, I have a better capacity for seeing through your lies, especially after putting up with you for my entire life." Oh I was enjoying this, enjoying this _so much,_ how could I ever forget how much fun it was to one up my brother.

"Ah, but I have learnt to hide my tells, and to act to them when needs be, to fool my opponent. And if there is one person I know how to fool, it is my little, dumber, brother." Mycroft smirked, all evil and like he knew everything. Little did he know, I had him _all_ figured out. Like a nicely wrapped little puzzle.

"Yes but a life time has shown me _exactly_ what you do when you act, so I can see through it. Even if I didn't, we both know that the acting genes in the family went straight to me, _not_ you, so I can see through you anyway." We all knew it, it wasn't exactly a family secret, none of it was, "Prepared to surrender brother? Or are you willing to continue your charade until I prove you wrong?"

_It's a trick! It's all a trick!_

_It's just a magic trick._

"Have I ever surrendered in my life?" Mycroft raised an eyebrow, daring me to continue. And dared I did.

_He's lying, it's a trick! He's lulling you into a false sense of security!_

"E4." I smiled, watching my brother grimace with uncontrolled glee.

"Damn." Mycroft groaned, defeated, _definitely_ defeated.

"Say it, out loud. _Say it._ " I needed to hear this, needed to hear this with my own two ears.

"You just sank my battle ship." Mycroft sighed, turning round our game board, revealing the sunk ship, all markers in place, just as I suspected.

_The Holmes Brothers, the **infamous** Holmes Brothers, playing **battleships?** How old are you two again!? _

_If I had known that my arch enemies were two **children** who played **battleships** , I would have lost interest a lot sooner in the two of you! You two are pathetic!_

_This isn't pirates, we were supposed to be playing pirates!_

"HA! I knew it! Lining all your ships up next to each other may work on normal human beings, but _never_ underestimate those of similar intellect to yourself." I grinned, utterly triumphant. I'd never won a game so quickly, without having a single boat hit on my own side.

"Yes, alright, no need to rub it in." Mycroft pulled all the pieces out of their respective pegs, just as the door opened, revealing my therapist.

"Hello you two, am I interrupting something?" She asked, looking mainly to Mycroft in guidance.

_She's a doctor! Don't trust her!_

_RUN SHERLOCK, SHE'S GOING TO GIVE YOU BAD THINGS AGAIN AND MAKE YOU FORGET US!_

"Not at all, we had just finished our game. I take it Doctor Watson has arrived?" Mycroft smiled genially, packing away his things as he did so.

"Yes, and I was wondering where to take him. Is he supposed to be visiting in here, or the usual visitors room?" Doctor… Patrice? Patricks? Palmer? Something like that, continued.

"Visitors room for now. He and Sherlock have a lot to talk about today, and I think Sherlock would like to have a safe place to return, if things do not go to plan."

"Things will go to plan, I have faith in John." I always did, always would. He was _John._

_John, who left you for a **wife,** only to blame you for his wife's **death,** to nearly leave you to **die** at the hands of Culverton Smith. _

_Don't explain anything to him Sherlock, he'll leave! They always leave Sherlock!_

"Your sense of faith and loyalty in that man is unfounded, brother mine." Mycroft really looked like he couldn't understand it, not at all.

"Yes, loyalty and friendship must be so _very_ confusing for you, Mycroft. Manipulation and subterfuge only goes so far." I teased, only half joking, "Anyway, I must be off. John and I need to have a bit of a catch up. Try not to let the door slam on your way out, brother dear." I stepped out, heading towards the visitors room before anybody could even think to follow me. I was off to see John, I was finally getting what I wanted, nothing was going to stop me now.

_You're telling him all about your dirty little secret today though, so how long do you **really** think this is going to last?_

_You may act confident now, but it won't last. Pride always comes before a fall Sherlock, **always.**_

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Out of interest, did anybody pick up the Good Omens reference in the previous chapter?


	66. Chapter 66

67 Sherlock's POV

John was waiting in the visitors room when I arrived, fiddling with his phone nervously as he waited for me. He was well rested, though, didn't seem all too stressed, just, well, worried. And nervous.

_He's scared of all your symptoms, of what this diagnosis means for friendship._

_Imagine finding out all your symptoms, the dirty truth to your delusions, your hallucinations, and remembering that he let you look after his **baby.** He'll never let you near her again, never come hear you himself either! He's going to leave after today, you will never see him again! _

_John's scared! He's actually scared of you! You should leave now, before he hears everything and decides to leave, he's already seen you delusional and hallucinating! Don't let him see everything!_

"Hey, did you know that us doctors have a little code for patients who are being hypochondriacs? It's called P.R.A.T.F.O, it stands for 'patient reassured and told to fuck off,' I had to use it the other day on a patient who thought that her hayfever was actually the flu." John held out his phone, I hesitated, then took it, looking up the information for myself. There wasn't much information on the subject, but a few sources told me it was real, including a clip from that insufferable show which John liked to watch on occasion.

"I hope you never say that to me." I handed him back the phone.

"Depends on how much of a hypochondriac you're being. I'll tell you to fuck off if it's a cold and you're trying to keep me home from work to entertain you." John hesitated briefly, "Have have you been?" He gave me a smile, an awkward one, but it was still a smile. I would take a smile over him being scared.

"Mycroft is an insufferable bore. But I did just manage to sink his battle ship, so it was nearly worth it." I sat down on my side of the table, hating the tension, the feeling that all of this was forced. It was a forced visit, one with rules, and an almost certain topic of conversation, one that had barriers, and a precisely two hundred and thirty five ways that it could go wrong.

_You're going to ruin the only friendship you've ever had in one conversation._

_Will you keep us around if John leaves? You're going to need some company._

_What if they're all waiting for John to leave to give you TD12? What if they're counting on him leaving and you being so upset you willingly want to forget him? They'll give you the TD12 so you can forget, and you'll lose everything. You'll lose me! You can't lose me! Please don't send me away!_

"Please tell me that you were playing the game battle ships, and not playing with real battle ships." John teased, though it wasn't entirely natural. More like he was trying to lighten the mood.

"Mycroft wouldn't let me anywhere near any sort of actual battle ship, trust me." I joined in. _He should, we could play with their guns and pretend to be pirates! Why don't we play pirates any more, Sherlock?_

"Yeah, I can imagine the carnage that would leave." John smiled, before a silence fell on us. Neither of us had any idea on what to say, where did we even start with something like this? Was there a place to start with this?

How did I even _begin_ to explain this? I'd never… there had never been anyone to explain this to. For once, I was entirely out of my depth. And I had _no idea_ on where to begin.

_Sherlock Holmes, lost for words, I never thought I'd see the day!_

_Cat got your tongue, aw little Sherly doesn't know how to explain that he's completely insane!_

"So…" John started, "We should probably talk." He sighed, like he _really_ didn't want this conversation. I didn't want to have it either, but it seemed inevitable. We couldn't carry on like nothing had happened, and couldn't skirt around the subject like it wasn't important. As much as I hated to admit it, I had a serious illness, and therefore should probably explain.

"Yeah, probably for the best." I desperately wanted to fiddle with something, and I never fiddled with anything when I was nervous, had trained myself out of it years ago. But right now, what I wouldn't have given for at _least_ my violin bow to rosin, or my phone to pretend to text on, or, or _something._

_Aw, little itty bitty Sherlock's lost all of his armour!_

"I was thinking that, well, we have two hours, and two hours every day for a while, so we don't have to go through everything today. How about if we spend an hour today going through the most burning questions, and then maybe I can catch you up on everything at home? I've got a huge archive of photos and videos of Rosie, as well as a load of stories about her if you want to hear them." John suggested, sometimes, he was so much more than a conductor of light. He _was_ the light, making a terrible, awkward, situation so much better.

"I'd like that." I would, I really, really would. I'd missed so much, and I _missed her so much,_ I wanted to know everything, every single second I had missed. I'd spent so long thinking that she was in danger, that she was going to be killed by a serial killer, while I was completely helpless, I needed to know that she was still thriving, that she was still a happy, _alive,_ little girl.

"Can I just ask first… is she happy and doing well?" I needed to know, before anything else, I needed to know that much.

"Rosie's an incredibly happy and intelligent baby. She's not quite got the hang of walking yet, but she's having a great time using everything she possibly can to stand up straight, she even finds falling back down funny. Mrs Hudson and Molly are taking her to feed the ducks today, so she's especially happy, today." John smiled down at his phone as he spoke, "She does miss you, though."

"I miss her, too." I did, I really, really did.

"I miss you, too. Things aren't right without you around." John admitted, looking me in the eye sincerely.

"You have no idea." I'd been technically living without him for a longer time, we'd only briefly been reunited while hunting down Culverton Smith, before that we'd been apart, because we'd not been on the best of times after Mary's death.

_Of course you weren't, it's your fault Mary's dead in the first place!_

_You made him lose his wife, cost a child their mother, why would John ever want to spend time with you after something like that?_

_Sherlock, you didn't tell me he had lost someone because of you._

"Yeah, sorry about that, grief isn't… I'm working through it." John looked away again, "Are you… are you working through everything? Or, or are you just coming down from, well, all this?"

"I'm… I'm coming down, really." I answered.

And so it began. Time for the truth to come out.

_Let's see if John still likes you after all of this._


	67. Chapter 67

68 John's POV

I had so many questions, so many things I _desperately_ wanted to ask, to find answers to. Who did Sherlock hallucinate? What did his voices sound like? When did all this start? And so, so many other things I wanted to ask. But how could I ask any of it? Was there anything off limits? Or was any of it too forward, or too private to ask? I didn't know, I had _no_ guidance on this!

"John, just ask whatever you want to ask, I'll answer as best as I can. Or give you the answer some other day, when I'm ready to." Sherlock apparently sensed my unease. The poor man looked utterly resigned to this conversation, like he _really_ didn't want to have the conversation but knew it was unavoidable.

It _was_ unavoidable, really. I couldn't deny that. It was completely unavoidable. If we didn't talk about it now, we never would, and then where would we be? Apart from stuck from constantly guessing each other - is he going to be triggered by what I'm saying/doing? Is this a symptom? Is he judging the other for his symptoms?

It wouldn't stop. At least if we could get the questions out the way, we could work together to fixing this, and working out how to be friends again. Not that we weren't still friends, of course. Sherlock was still my best friend, but I wasn't… he wasn't… we had a _lot_ to work through, and a lot of adjusting to get through.

"Okay, okay… well… I guess the best first question is, how long as this been going on for?" I asked, figuring it was a good place to start, to at least get an idea as to how long Sherlock had had this illness.

"I was diagnosed at seventeen, but symptoms first started when I was sixteen. It took a while to be diagnosed, there was a lot… _other_ problems at the time." Sherlock winced as he said it, leaning to the left a bit. Not too noticeably, but noticeable enough. Was he leaning away from a hallucination?

"Drugs?" I watched him nod, "Jesus." I shouldn't have been surprised, schizophrenia set in during the late teens. But _sixteen?_ That was no age, no age at all, to be struck down by such a serious mental health issue. And definitely not to be hooked on cocaine and God knows what else.

"Was there a trigger? I know that there usually isn't, but was there, for you? Or did it develop on it's own?" maybe there was an explanation to it all, maybe there had been a terrible accident, or something had happened, something really bad.

Or maybe the symptoms had just developed, and he'd been scared, and alone, and ended up self medicating with drugs. It wasn't uncommon, many people self medicated with illegal drugs to deal with their symptoms for various illnesses. Sherlock was intelligent, but underneath it all, he would have still been a scared, desperate kid.

"It just developed on it's own. There was an… _incident,_ around the time, but that only delayed my diagnosis, and brought on the drug problem. And no, I won't elaborate further on that incident right now. It's… it's not good for me to talk about it when I'm not fully medicated. It makes things worse." Sherlock explained, what little bit of openness in his face closing off immediately as he winced again.

"Alright, we don't have to say anything more on that. We can move on." I wanted to know, desperately what the hell had happened, what had brought Sherlock to drug addiction in the first place, because now it was clear it wasn't just his racing mind. But, I was getting him talking about the more important things right now, I wasn't about to make him close up again now.

"Thank you." Sherlock whispered, he looked genuinely grateful for that.

"Not a problem, though, if you ever want to… I'm here, alright?" I wanted to reach out to him, hold his arm, show him that I was here for him, but I couldn't. The guards in the room had already warned that there was no touching allowed, that I was _barely_ allowed to show him my phone, and that was only because Mycroft had cleared it before.

Even if I had been allowed to touch him, I couldn't. Not without being blocked but the small barrier in between us. It wasn't too big, certainly wasn't floor to ceiling, but it was big enough to make sure _everyone_ knew that we weren't supposed to be touching or passing anything over.

"I'll remember that." Sherlock managed a small smile, before wincing again, I don't think he even knew he was doing it.

"Great… but, erm, where was I? Right, what medication are you taking, I know there's a lot of different combinations and dosages, what one works for you?" at least, which combination worked for him when he actually _took_ his prescribed medication.

"Five milligram of Clozopine, as well as a further five of Klonopin for the anxiety caused by the condition, once a day for both. I'm also stuck with Haloperidol whenever the orderlies get scared." Sherlock smirked at the orderly in the room, the man in question in paled.

"Just how often have they gotten scared?" I dreaded to think, Sherlock scared a lot of people, had the power to push every single one of their buttons at any time. And in his current situation, I had no problem imagining him causing _havoc._

"Seven times so far in this admittance." Sherlock answered, now I winced, "It's nothing I'm not used to, trust me on that." At least he didn't look proud of it. Something told me he wasn't just getting sedated because he was winding up the staff.

"Still doesn't mean I have to like it. I don't like _any_ of this, quite frankly. You've been treated incredibly badly recently, and I don't like the idea of isolating you away from everyone who cares about you, let alone any of the other shit Mycroft's pulled." I hated it in fact, would have dragged Sherlock out of here in a heartbeat if I could, obviously, I couldn't, but it didn't mean I didn't want to.

"I know, and it pains me to say this, but Mycroft was just trying to keep me safe. No-one knows about my diagnosis, or my medical history further than my drug abuse. Nobody is ever supposed to know, he was just trying to make sure nothing got out. Doesn't mean he did it in the right way, or that I will _ever_ forgive him, but he was just honouring my wishes to keep things secret." Sherlock sighed, I understood that, I really did, Sherlock liked his secrets, didn't like anybody thinking he was incapable of _anything._ But it didn't mean I liked Mycroft's methods, and it certainly didn't mean I liked his way of shutting everyone out.

At least I was here now, so I could work with Sherlock, get the answers I needed, and help him get better. I was here now, that was what was important.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the wait, my beta reader has been very busy recently and hasn't been able to read through chapters!


	68. Chapter 68

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for your patience and your understanding, I can't say I'm back for good yet, there's still so much going on and I'm not entirely back into the swing of writing again. But I didn't want to leave you guys without anything, especially at such an important part of this story, so I thought I'd post an update now, and hope the wait for the next one isn't too long.   
> Also, apologies if there's any 'voices' that aren't italicised, I seem to be having problems with Scrivener actually copying and pasting formatted chapters anywhere. I've tried to match it up, but I may have missed something.

69 Sherlock's POV

We talked and talked and talked, talked about so many of my symptoms, my so called 'triggers,' the general idea of how it felt to be inside my head during these moments, everything. So much I practically lost the ability to explain it all. 

How did I explain the never ending paranoia? The constant sirens blaring in my head, telling me that nothing was safe, that everyone I loved was in danger, that things lined up in my head so quickly, so easily, that it all fit, even when it didn't make complete sense? 

_ I don't know, how about using your words? _

_ Oh this is delicious, Sherlock Holmes, unable to explain something! It must be bad if you can't think of the words!  _

"It's like… like me on a case. But, dialled up to an incredible degree. The connections come to me quicker than I can blink, even the simplest of things feels like a clue. It all makes sense to me, even when it's too fantastical to be real in some cases. I get… swept up, in it, like a case. It just feels so real, like I've been given a case rated a 10, except the killer is after me, after the people I care about, and I've got to keep them safe. The thoughts never leave, they stay on that track constantly, never letting me think about anything else. Meanwhile, I'm surrounded by voices, shouting from all angles, telling me a thousand things at a time, begging me to pay attention to them, to do as they say, commenting on every single thing I do. It doesn't stop, it never stops." How could else I explain it? I didn't… I'd never had to explain this to anyone. 

My doctors had diagnosed me, they'd never asked what it was like in my head, they'd just understood it all when I'd been diagnosed. And I'd never… I'd never needed to explain it anyone else. Mycroft had researched it all himself. And Mummy and Daddy had had the doctors explain it to them. I'd never explained it. I never had to.

"That… that makes a reasonable amount of sense." John nodded, "And it's like that constantly? With no let up?" it was my turn to nod, "What about when you're on your medication? What happens then?" 

"The delusions go away, I'm less susceptible to creating conspiracies. The hallucinations die down, mostly to voices I can ignore for the most part. The paranoia lessens to normal levels for someone with as many enemies as I have." I shrugged, "I cope, I'm functional, I can do everything normal people can do. I just have… a little extra going on in my head." 

"Understatement of the year." John smiled, not scared yet, but still worried,  _ he has questions, and he's scared to ask them.  _

_ Here we go, questions about how dangerous you are! Can't pretend that you're not going to get them! Time to pretend you're harmless, and we both know that's not true! _

_ You wouldn't hurt anyone, Sherlock, would you? Wait… have you hurt people? Oh God, you hurt people, didn't you? What did you do? _

"I'm not a danger to anyone around me, on or off medication. I am never violent, and never have been. The stereotype that schizophrenics are any more violent than the rest of the population is just that, a stereotype, made up by the media and the particularly stupid and scared of the population. I am not a danger to anyone,"  _ you shot a man in cold blood, right in front of John _ , "Not anymore than what you've already seen, anyway." 

"I know, I read the file this morning. I just… It's hard to explain. I'm still trying to process that you're ill, I'd have never have guessed." John sighed, fingers still fiddling with his phone, scrapping off a bit of dried carrot from the back with his thumb nail. 

"I made sure to hide it well. The mentally ill aren't treated well by the general population, and in my line of work, my particular illness could be used against me in many creative ways. It is for the best to hide it from everyone, as much as possible. Of course at times like this, it's hard, but we have done a good job so far." I had made sure to hide the medication, the prescriptions, all of it. Had spent years keeping it all secret. 

_ And it's all gone to waste now! _

"Can I ask just where you kept your medication? I thought we had all your hiding places figured out after that first drugs bust." John asked, he didn't look too scared of me right now, if at all actually. Still open, still interested. Interested in me. 

_ He's a doctor, you idiot. Of course he's interested! You're like a personal case study for him to look at.  _

"There's a lose floorboard in the exact centre of my bed, I hide all of medication in there, along with my prescriptions. I keep spares sewn into the lining of my coat, as well as a few sewn into the hems of my trousers, in case of emergencies. Mycroft keeps spares with him at all times too, and places doctors in any hospital I am in for an extended stay, so they can discreetly make sure I am still taking my medication, so nothing arises. There's also spares in every one of my bolt holes around London, there's even some hidden in Lestrade's office, which have not been discovered in nearly ten years." I answered, watching John's eyes widen in surprise. 

"Bloody hell, you are thorough. How the hell have you managed to hide your medication in Lestrade's office without him noticing?" I'd missed that look, that look that said I was fantastic, brilliant, beyond John's comprehension. I hadn't seen that look in a long time, I had missed it, more than words could possibly say. 

"He's a particularly unobservant man, and one who doesn't regularly check the underside of his filing cabinet." I smiled, enjoying feeling clever again. I'd felt slow, stupid, for too long. To have John's look of awe back, knowing that he still found me interesting and clever, it was everything.

_ Wow, do you really rely on one man's opinion so much? He's one man. _

_ You used to like it when I told you that you were clever.  _

_ Pathetic. _

"Incredible." John laughed, incredible. He thought that that was incredible, it had been far too long since I had last heard that.

"Just utilising one man's inability to see, but not observe." I smiled back.

"Still, incredible. And, speaking of seeing, how about we save the rest for tomorrow, and you have a bit of a catch up with your Goddaughter?" John held up his phone.

"There's nothing I would like more." 

  
  



	69. Chapter 69

70 John's POV

Sherlock's eyes lit up as I went through the photo and video archive of his missed months of Rosie's life. I hadn't seen him look so engaged and, dare I say it, happy, since, well… for a very long time. When was the last time I had seen him this happy? Since before Mary died, wow… that was far too long ago.

Anyway, he was happy now, flicking through all the photos I had taken, deducing everything he possibly could about my baby girl. 

"She's grown another three centimeters since I last saw her, and you, or more likely Mrs Hudson, has bought her several new outfits. She's not due a new shoe yet, but will do in the next… three months, if she continues her rate of growth as she is. I see Rosie has also grown her eighth tooth as well, but judging by your tiredness level, she's been given some respite from it this week, though will probably start cutting another tooth within the next few days." Sherlock rambled, pausing to take in every photo, yet the stream of words kept on coming. 

I loved it, loved watching that deductive spark come back to life, to see him so engaged in something so normal. Sherlock had loved deducing little things like this about Rosie, had always really enjoyed telling me everything he could about her, like he was utterly fascinated by her. I loved knowing that he loved her, that he really, truly cared for her, and was so interested in everything to do with her. 

And, he was deducing. Deducing something real, something tangible and was definitely 100% real, that I knew was definitely real. It meant that his brain was still working, on some level, it was still ticking over and working through things, it wasn't entirely lost. I knew, deep down, that he wasn't entirely lost, that his illness didn't mean that I'd automatically lose Sherlock, or that he'd never be as clever as he used to be, but it was hard not to think it, after the past few weeks, especially after yesterday. 

He'd been so manic, so paranoid, barely making sense at times. And now, here he was, coming up with proper deductions again, engaged in the present. A little jumpy, clearly trying to ignore the noise in his head, but he was still in the moment for now. He was with me, and he was working that magnificent brain in the right way, it was an improvement, a vast improvement. One I hoped didn't get set back or taken from him. I still didn't trust this place, hadn't been given any reason at all to think for even a second that they could help him in any way. The guard in the room may have left him alone for now, but what about later? What about when I wasn't here, keeping an eye on him, keeping him distracted from everything going on in his head? What then? Would they sedate him? Drag him off to an isolation room again? Or would they leave him to scream and cry out? 

"Judging by the way her weight moves as she attempts to stand, Rosie will most likely start walking within the next three days." Sherlock concluded, looking wistfully at the screen, as the latest video of Rosie attempting to stand played.

"You think so?" I asked, focusing back on the now, not on the later. Time would have to tell on that front, I would have to talk to him tomorrow about treatment plans and everything else, right now, we were talking about good, happy things, like Rosie, because I had promised, because Sherlock deserved to hear good, happy things. Because, damn it, if a man couldn't see his Goddaughter, he could damn well at least see pictures and videos, and hear all about her and deduce everything he wanted about her. If it distracted him from this horrible situation, made him feel normal, I'd do it, I'd leave all my questioning behind, wait to ask until tomorrow, so he could have his moment, have his little spark of happiness. 

"Yes, the muscles in her legs are starting to make the movements they need to be able to walk, she's unconsciously starting to work out the mechanics of it, she'll be walking before the end of the week, I know it." Sherlock explained, pointing at parts of the video to show what he meant. 

"Makes sense." I could see what he meant, sort of, though I was nowhere near on the same wavelength he was, I took that as a good sign, "Want me to see if I can get film of it, so you can see the big moment?" it wasn't the way I had always imagined - Rosie taking her first footsteps in 221b, Sherlock fully involved and telling me just how amazing Rosie was in every single way possible, but maybe, I could still include him in the moment, give him some sort of view of such a big occasion. 

"Yes, if you can get the camera going in time." Sherlock nodded, holding back a wince, before looking sad. I had a feeling he was having the same thoughts as me, that he wanted to be there to see Rosie walk for the first time, that he'd imagined her first steps to be in 221b, at the very least, to be in Sherlock's presence. That maybe, she'd walk towards him, or use his leg to pull herself upright in the first place, something like that. 

And now he couldn't have that, because he was stuck here, struck down by a severe mental illness. God, I wished I could help him, wished I could take him home and look after him there. But really, I couldn't, not alone, and not without having everyone we knew find out about his diagnosis. For now, the best place for Sherlock was a facility, maybe not this specific one, but a hospital, where they could treat him, and keep him safe while we couldn't.

"I can bring her at some point, if you'd like." I could, fuck what Mycroft said, what anyone said.

"Not right now, John, not while I'm still paranoid and delusional. I don't want her to see me like this." Sherlock shook his head, though I could tell he hated saying it.

"Alright, but the minute, the minute, you're meds properly start working, and you're feeling better, I'm bringing her. Or I'm taking you both out for the day, or something like that. I'll figure something out, but, you're not going to lose out on any more time with her than absolutely necessary, alright? You've missed enough, you're not missing out on more." I couldn't stand it, I couldn't stand to see him look so sad, so alone, looking at pictures like it was the only thing he'd ever get again. He didn't deserve it, he deserved more, he deserved to have things to look forward to. 

I couldn't sit back and watch Sherlock look miserable, when I could fix it, when I could give him what he wanted. Not right now, obviously, but later, later, when he was ready, I could give him that at the least. I could help, give him that thing to look forward to, to break up his days here, to focus on something else other than endless corridors and the reality of this whole situation. 

Sherlock deserved something to look forward to, to work towards. And Rosie deserved to see her Godfather, I wasn't going to keep them apart, not when they both loved each other as much as they did. I couldn't do much on my end of this whole situation, but I could do that, at the very least, I could do that.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry the long wait, there's been so much stress recently that I ended up in the pits of writers block, with no idea on how to continue this. But, I've had a boost of energy and inspiration, thanks to NaNoWriMo, so I'm hoping I can get back to updating regularly! Apologies for the long wait, I really did not think it was going to go on this long!


	70. Chapter 70

71 Sherlock's POV

John's determination stayed with me, long after he had left, long after my therapist had left me for the evening, and long after lights out. I was supposed to be asleep, had forced myself to take the prescribed sleeping pill, but it hadn't even touched me.

_ What if it wasn't a sleeping pill? What if it was something else, what if they're drugging you with something else?! What could it be?! You just took it, it could be anything!  _

_ Hospital staff can be paid off to do anything to you, they could have just given you anything from a placebo to something incredibly dangerous. _

And yet, nothing was happening. My body was it's usual clockwork self, and I wasn't hallucinating more than usual. It had just been a too low a dose, that was all. They'd given me a lower dose than what was needed, probably trying to be on the safe side, thanks to the other drugs in my system, and my high tolerance for drugs. 

Back to John, he had seemed determined, absolutely set on getting Rosie and I in the same room together. It wasn't out of loyalty, or a desperate plea to get me to do something, he'd just… he had apparently just wanted us to see each other again. And I couldn't understand why. People didn't usually act like this, they didn't find out that the Godfather to their only child was severely mentally ill and decide that the person and the child should be around each other as soon as possible. And I hadn't pushed for it, had made absolutely sure that I hadn't put any pressure on seeing the little girl again. 

It wasn't that I didn't want to see her, I did, desperately, I missed her more than I ever thought I would. But, I didn't want her to see me like this, twitching and wincing, hearing voices and barely able to stop replying to them. I didn't want her to be scared by it, because she didn't understand why I was different. I had probably scared her enough before I was brought to this facility, I didn't want to worry her any more.

_ She's a bloody baby, she won't remember a thing of what happens here.  _

Didn't mean I wanted her to see me like this. I was selfish, and rude, and impossible to deal with, but that didn't mean that I didn't care for my Goddaughter and how she saw me. I wanted her to know that I was safe to be around, that I did care for her and her well being. I knew that I wouldn't hurt her, that I wasn't ever any physical danger to anyone when I was ill, but that didn't mean I wanted to risk it, or have her see me when I was ill like this. 

_ Sherlock Holmes, everybody, aloof, untouchable, and utterly indifferent to every person on the planet, apart from a baby. And not even a special baby at that.  _

_ Do Mummy and Daddy know that you're a Godfather? They'll be so excited to see a baby! They didn't have any other babies after you, did they?  _

But still, I knew that, but John only had my word about that. Why did he trust me so much with his baby? Why was he so determined to give me access to his baby when I was ill like this? Why did he care so much about this? He'd been so sure that he'd never wanted to see me again after Mary, and that I should never be anywhere near his child, why was he letting me anywhere near her, especially now? If I were him, I'd have been utterly against it, would have been so against it I wouldn't have even encouraged it by dedicating an hour to talking about Rosie.

_ He feels sorry for you. Look where you are, what else would you have to look forward to?  _

Seeing Sherrinford. Mycroft had promised, and when it came to Sherrinford, he always kept his word. Especially when I was ill. As soon as I was more stable, less prone to hallucination, delusion and paranoia, and definitely less likely to escape from him, he took me to see Sherrinford. Usually to reassure myself, but also because he knew just how much I needed to see him. 

_ That's just a given, part of routine, nothing more. Whereas, seeing Rosie is an entirely different ball game. You could actually hurt her.  _

_ How quick do you think John would take Rosie away if you so much as raised your voice around her? You would never see her again, John would be so worried about Rosie's continued existence! You already killed his wife, imagine if he thought you could kill his daughter too.  _

I wouldn't hurt her, I knew I wouldn't. It was a stereotype against schizophrenics, I'd be fine with her. It's just that… John wasn't at all cautious about it. He would have brought Rosie tomorrow if I allowed it. And I didn't understand why. He couldn't trust me that much. There was no way he could trust me that much with his daughter. Not so soon. He was a doctor, but he was still human, people didn't trust the mentally ill, especially with such bad stereotypes against them. 

Why was he so determined? It didn't make sense, and I desperately wanted to understand why he trusted me so much. 

 


End file.
